


Charlied

by cometchained



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, but with a few tweaks, mostly follows canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cometchained/pseuds/cometchained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Charlie meets Cas and forms an OTP.</p><p>Starts off light, but as it goes on it'll be more serious. Spoilers past 8x20.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

When Cas arrives, Sam is sitting on the couch with his face in his hands, Dean is staring up at the ceiling with a _what am I doing with these morons_ roll of his eyes expression, shaking his head, and Charlie is looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Um.”

The deep, graveling voice is one they’re all expecting, which is the reason for their stupor of classic reactions. It’s familiar, all-too-familiar, to Dean and Sam, the latter of whom looks up, pressing his lips together in an imitation of what might have been an attempt at a smile. But it’s not familiar to Charlie, who hasn’t even seen the two brothers in over a year, and she’s never met the third member of their motley little fellowship. And considering that all Sam said was, “Angel. Wears a trenchcoat. _Talks like this”_ when she had asked about him, her imagination, of course, had gone slightly berserk with trying to figure out this magical being, this _angel_ who could smite those freaking terrifying, human-eating things.

He’s not what she expected.

For one thing, he’s just a man (she may or may not have been envisioning some enormous, white and shining figure with wings and a blazing sword). He’s of average height (though shorter than the two Ents currently sprawled on her couch), and average build, with dark curly hair that’s sort of spiky. His face is lightly tanned, and he’s got a bit of scruff around his mouth and chin, trailing a bit on his neck (Which is kind of adorable, actually, Charlie decides, but then mentally panics for a moment - can you call an angel adorable? Is that kosher? Do they get mad and smite you if you can’t?).

Most of all, however, what Charlie notices about Castiel is the overwhelming sense of weariness that emanates from him. She’s not even a hunter thing (whatever Dean and Sam call themselves), and she’s never met Cas before, but even she can tell that he’s been through a great deal. His shoulders are rounded, slumped a little, as though he bears the weight of the world on them. His eyes are dark, a little hooded, but filled with intelligence and knowledge that spans far beyond Charlie; years, decades,centuries. Castiel is an old creature, but a tired one.

Charlie opens her mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and abruptly shuts it again.

“Hey, Cas,” says Sam, giving Dean a brief look before he says, “Glad you, um, made it.”

“Yes, well,” says Castiel heavily. "I heard you call," and again Charlie is struck by that sense of weariness. He doesn’t look strong or fierce right now (though Hobbits never look fierce either, and Hermione was no giant); just the quiet shadow of something he used to be.

“So,” she squeaks, and her voice comes out several octaves higher than she meant it to. All three of them look at her, even Dean, who before now was muttering something under his breath that Charlie couldn’t hear, but that made Sam give him a pointed look.

She turns to Cas, giving him a bright smile that is probably a bit too wide, too much.

“Sooooo,” she says again, and now Castiel is looking at her, and his eyes are so very bright blue; a blazing fire of color in an otherwise somber looking body.

“You’re…Cas,” Charlie finishes lamely, one hand lifting and falling to gesture pathetically at the person in front of her. He regards her calmly, though says nothing, merely nods, dark eyes flickering with something she cannot read.

“Cas, this is Charlie,” says Dean, speaking audibly for the first time in several moments, sounding slightly disgruntled, or maybe irritated, though she doesn’t know why. And though he is introducing her, he is looking at the angel. “Charlie, Cas.”

She sticks out her hand - the proper greeting - which Cas regards with an almost curious expression. After a moment, however, he reaches out, accepts her hand, and shakes it gently, his fingers worn, his skin soft and rough simultaneously. Charlie beams at him and nods fervently, but then drops her hand quickly when he gives her a bemused look, tilting his head to the side like a bird might do.

He reminds her slightly of the parakeet she used to have when she was a kid, and this amuses her too much, so she gives a little cough to dispel any indication of amusement, clearing her throat.

“So, um!” says Charlie brilliantly, and clasps her hands together, rocking on the balls of her feet to avoid any sort of awkwardness that stems from first greetings and stumbling conversation. She’s already helped these guys kill Leviathans; that means they’ve bonded in her book, at least.

And apparently in theirs too, since they were the ones who had sought her out. Not that she really should be excited about that, because the last time they met, things had tried to _eat_ her, and she had almost lost her favorite pair of Avengers sneakers, and then she’d had to go into hiding (again). But this time, surely, they’ve got a much better handle on things with an actual angel on their side. For a moment she lets herself look back at the angel in question again. She’s never seen one before, and, well, she didn’t really expect them to look like…that. With a suit, backwards tie, and trenchcoat.

Maybe she’s just gotten a little too into the anime lately.

“So,” says Sam, and Charlie is jerked abruptly from her inner musings.

“We’ve been looking for this tablet,” continues Sam, with a nod towards Cas, as though confirming something. “And we haven’t had much luck, especially since losing Kevin. And we’ve lost track of Crowley…”’

He’s still talking, but Charlie’s mildly distracted by the fact that Cas has not moved from the place where he stood when he arrived (out of nowhere), right after Sam insisted on praying to him and Dean saying stubbornly that, _a) they did not need to call Cas all the time,_ and _b) “he just got out of freaking Purgatory, the dude needs some downtime, man.”_

He’s standing stock-still, arms loose at his sides, fingers lightly curled into loose fists. He’s made no effort to move closer, to sit down, or to partake in the conversation. His face is pale and wan and he seems drained somehow. And, Charlie discovers, when she follows to where his gaze is, he’s looking at Dean.

Charlie is not an expert in angels whatsoever. She’s not even an expert in humans, or really anything that doesn’t have a save button. She can’t read what Castiel is thinking, or figure out how he is by his mannerisms (which, at the moment, are severely lacking and very bewildering, not to mention a little freaky). But what she _can_ tell, from this one small thing, is that there is something heavy and unspoken between Castiel and Dean.

His expression is inscrutable, bright blue eyes slightly narrowed, as though he is X-raying something or someone, reading right through them - in this case, the stocky figure of Dean Winchester who is currently getting dirt all over Charlie’s nice clean couch. Sam is still talking, and Dean is nodding to what he’s saying, comprehending it, but his eyes are not on his brother.

His eyes are on Cas.

And though he looks tired and exasperated and a little frustrated, he is looking at Cas with an expression that Charlie has never seen before (not that she’s even seen much of Dean, since it’s been a long time, and she only knew them for a short time before, but still). Something gentle and firm simultaneously, something confused and messy and agonized, something completely blown to hell. She can’t read what lies beneath the emotions, and really, she’s not sure if she wants to, because this feels almost like a private moment that she and Sam are both intruding in on, and man is that just awkward all over the place. She’s not sure if Sam just doesn’t pick up the heavy tension between Dean and Cas and is choosing to ignore it, or if he’s just dense.

Charlie really hopes it’s the former, because tension this heavy is basically the equivalent of being clobbered over the head with a wooden mallet. _Man_ do these two need to figure out whatever it is that they’ve got going on between them, of which Charlie isn’t _quite_ sure, and of which she is now very curious.

She wonders briefly if they’re, you know, a _thing_ \- but then she shakes her head, because no way does Dean Winchester swing the same way she does.

…but they’d be a very _cute_ thing, she decides, her eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them. Whatever it is that there is between them - which is obviously _something,_ romantic or not; though from the way Cas looks at Dean, she might guess something one-sided - but then she remembers the defensive growl in Dean’s throat as he told Sam not to call for Cas, the protective, instinctively cautious sort of tone to his voice as he talked about him, and okay, maybe there _is_ something between the two of them after all, and really, if there’s not, there _should_ be -

“…Charlie?”

Sam’s voice snaps her out of her reverie.

“Yes?” she says, glancing around and realizing that all three of them are now looking at her (again). Dean raises his eyebrows.

“Tuning in for the conversation?” he says, and she blushes, pink spreading over her pale face.

“Oh,” she says, flustered, and promptly sits down in the nearest thing - a rocking chair that creaks loudly - folding her hands neatly into her lap like Hermione would have done in this sort of situation. “Yeah, yeah, I'm good.”

But there’s a small smile on her face as the conversation continues.


	2. Back to Basics

She's got her arm in a brace and bruises on her face and when Dean says, "Dude. Are you serious?" she just gives him a look and says "Moondoor got a little rough at the end, all right? You try throwing a javelin thirty feet at the enemy without spraining something."

Dean doesn't answer this, even though he opens his mouth to do just that and then closes it, and thankfully Sam interrupts before the conversation gets to where Dean has to admit something he really doesn't want to.

It's been almost three months since they've last seen Charlie, and now, here in the town of Waterville, Maine, she looks a little worse for the wear (though really, Sam and Dean can't say much on that front either). They're sitting at a little cafe called Bob's on the outskirts of town, and there are greasy burgers and thick french fries and Dean's chowing down on his double bacon and wishing it had more tomato. Sam, of course, is eating his moose food, and Charlie's picking at a basket of chicken strips with honey mustard that Dean keeps stealing. They've only been here five minutes and already things are complicated - though right now, Dean decides, as he shoves a fry into his mouth and chews thoughtfully, complicated is good. Complicated is easy. Complicated means something to get his mind off of other...things.  
"Why did you leave Moondoor?" Sam asks. "I thought you loved it there."

Charlie looks slightly resigned as she waves a chicken strip around almost sulkily. "Let's just say Moondoor didn't last very long on the grid," she says, and when Dean and Sam both raise their eyebrows at her, she adds, in an almost defensive tone, "It was fun while it lasted, and yes, I was the queen and it was hella awesome and I basically controlled all the bitches in the hood, but apparently the guy who started it was some old perv who broke all these state laws and everything, so they had to shut it down."

Dean, oddly enough, feels sorry for her. Maybe he's getting soft in his old age. Or maybe he just understands Charlie. "That bites."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Charlie's mouth twists a little at the corners. "Well, after that whole _incident,_ from you guys anyway - "

"You mean the one where we stopped you from banging a fairy?" Dean can't help but interject, and Sam glowers at him while Charlie rolls her eyes. 

"Yes that one - it's not like the game was all that fun anymore. So I figured I would, you know, move on, find a new place to live. I mean I'm not exactly able to go back to my old life as Charlie Bradbury, or even Carrie Heinlein (thanks for that, by the way). I know Roman's dead and everything, but there are still leviathan out there and...other creepy things, so I figured a small town would, you know, hide me from...things." 

Dean completely ignores the fact that she sounds exactly like him right now and clears his throat. "Okay, so you came to Hicksville, Maine, and what happened? Somebody here trip over their overalls?" 

Sam is wearing _Exasperated Brother Expression #221_ and Dean just shrugs like he's done nothing wrong at all, hiding a grin. 

"Well," says Charlie, dipping one of her fries into Dean's ketchup and popping it into her mouth, gesticulating wildly with her hands. "I joined this video game club at the local library, and - " 

Wait, wait, wait," says Dean, and both Charlie, already reaching for another fry, and Sam, his fork halfway to his mouth, both stop and look at him, bemused. 

"There's a _video game club_ at the _library?"_

_"Yes,"_ says Charlie peevishly, giving Dean an expression that clearly says something along the lines of _Just try and tell me that it's nerdy. Just do it. See what happens._ and Dean decides maybe he shouldn't push it, especially since Sam is giving him another one of his trademark _Dean stop lying, you know you'd love to join that group_ looks. 

Which is probably true. 

"Anyway," Charlie continues. "The other day we had a meeting after playing a round of Bioshock Infinite, and we were talking about, you know, maybe getting together for lunch or something, and all of a sudden it just got really cold and I could see my breath and then one of our group members - he'd gone to the bathroom - he was screaming and when he found him he was just - he was - 

"Ah," says Sam, and Dean says, "Ghost." 

Charlie slumps down in her chair. "Great," she says, and Dean takes her moment of self pity to sneak another fry from her plate (his own are long gone). "I just finally manage to get things a little less chaotic and now there's a ghost and hey, remember when I asked you if I was a monster magnet and then decided I didn't want to know well _I'm pretty sure I'm a monster magnet because just look at my life right now - "_

"Woah, woah, woah," Dean says, and holds up a hand. "Charlie, come on. You're not a monster magnet. You just...happen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Bad things just...happen sometimes. 

Or all the time. 

__"Good things do happen, Dean."_ _

__"Not in my experience."_ _

Sam is looking sympathetic. "We'll figure this out," he tells Charlie bracingly, and she gives him a weak smile. He tells her a few more consoling things, but Dean's mind is far away, still stuck in the place it's been for days now, back inside that dark and dusty room inside the crypt, back looking at someone with bright blue eyes, so blue he could drown in them, and he almost feels as though he is drowning because nothing has gone right, nothing is the way it should be, and everything is just so freaking messed up right now - 

"Dean?" 

He snaps out of it. "Yeah?" 

The look in Sam's eyes is almost too probing - Dean knows that Sam wants him to talk, but he's not about to, not yet. He can't. Or maybe he won't. 

_Can't or won't can't or won't can't or won't -_

"Listen, uh," Sam reaches into an inside pocket of his coat and digs around for a minute before pulling out his FBI badge that has _Agent Scott Wesson_ printed on the front, pinning it neatly to the outside of his suit. "Why don't you two go scope out the library while I go talk to the police about Charlie's group member? What was his name?" 

"Reggie Briggs," says Charlie, and Sam nods, already standing and pushing in his chair, flipping a few bills onto the table for payment. Dean follows, a little slower, and Sam gives him another piercing look, like he's trying to tell him something, only Dean doesn't know if he wants to know exactly what it is. He makes himself busy with finishing his sandwich, and it's only after Sam disappears into the driver's seat of the Impala that Charlie turns to him, her red hair looking like flames in the early afternoon sun. 

Red hair, like Anna's used to be. 

(Before Michael ganked her, that is.) 

(He stops thinking of Michael and Anna because thinking of them is thinking of angels and thinking of angels means thinking of - ) 

"Are you okay?" she asks, and Dean adopts what he hopes passes as a confused expression as he answers, "Yes?" 

Charlie isn't buying any of his shit today. Maybe that's why he likes her so much. 

"Look, I know I'm not the best example of everything right with the world, but I was top bitch at Moondoor for a while. I knew when my subjects were having a rough time." 

"I'm not your subject." 

She doesn't dignify this childish retort with a response. "My point is, is that you just look like you've been through some pretty rough shit since the last time I saw you, all right?" 

Dean isn't looking at her. He can't. Instead, he fiddles with his car keys, rolling a silver keychain over work roughened fingers and skin thickened from years of hunting. There is a small scar on his thumb, just below his knuckle, from a nasty incident with a wendigo about ten years past, hardly visible, but every once in a while he remembers it, remembers when things used to be just about hunting, when it was just him and Sam against the world. 

Back when things weren't smeared with red and black and _blue blue blue -_

Dean sighs. 

"Let's go to the library." 


	3. Elementary

"You know, the last time you and I had a Talk, you told me you sent Sam a text pretending to be his ex-girlfriend. This time you're telling me that your friend beat the living daylights out of you and Sam has to be Harry going through the Triwizard Tournament."

They're walking towards the library across town, and the sun is beating down on Dean's neck, warm and sticky, and he feels slightly uncomfortable in this suit (he suspects it's a size too small), but he doesn't take off his coat. Charlie's words make his mouth twist, as though he is remembering something he doesn't really want to.

"So this friend. He's..."

"An angel, yes." He tries to keep it vague, hoping she won't remember.

"...like, a _legit_ angel, right, not like angel as in the January issue of Victoria's Secret?"

"...no. Um." Mental image be gone. "No."

Dean coughs, rubs the back of his neck like it itches, and tries to change the subject. "So why'd you pick here, of all places to come?"

Charlie swings her arms at her sides and looks around, her lips curving upwards in a small smile. "I know; not usually my habitat, huh? But I figured something smaller couldn't hurt, and hey, there's still an internet connection, even if it was developed back in the days of Gandalf the Grey. The people here are nice, and, I don't know..." She gives a little shrug. "It's pleasant."

He can sort of understand that, though "pleasant" isn't usually a term associated with his own life. Dean absently rubs his finger alongside the metal of his keys again, his eyes drifting around at the small town, with it's local businesses (Papa Joe's Meat and Potatoes All You Can Eat Buffet) and small, rundown motels (he forgot how familiar these are; being in the bunker has been more of a blessing than he thought), and single liquor store (he'll have to visit there later). And somehow, he gets it. It is pleasant.

At least until Charlie starts talking again.

"So this angel friend. It's Cas, right?"

She remembers. And it's hard, talking about this. It's tearing him apart inside, because that's what the memories are doing to him right now, like a blade slipping into his stomach, sinking into him with every step and it's _painful_ , these raw emotions, these unanswered questions. But maybe talking about it will make it easier, though he doubts it. He almost told Sam, when Sam had asked _"Are you doing okay?"_. He had almost answered, _"No, I'm not. I'm not okay."_ For a brief moment he had almost allowed himself to just give in and say everything, but the moment had broken too soon and Sam had gotten out and Dean was left to crack jokes, make light of the situation.

He hates this. He really hates this.

Dean's throat feels as though he's been swallowing sawdust as he says, "Yeah. It was Cas."

They walk in silence for a moment or two before Charlie says, "So, what happened after he beat you up?"

Dean shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. "He stopped. He was being controlled by this angel chick, Naomi, who told him to take the tablet and kill me. But...he didn't. Something...something broke the spell and he stopped before he killed me."

He gives Charlie a weak smile. "Thank heaven for that."

The irony of that statement is not lost on him. Dean coughs again.

"So where's Cas now?" Charlie asks, and suddenly it feels like there's not enough air, and Dean stares straight ahead, hands in his pockets so that Charlie can't see the way his fingers tremble or hear how his heart beats faster in his chest, as though trying to make up for the fact that he can't breathe properly.

"He, uh..." He feels defeated. "He left. I don't know where he is."

And maybe that's why he hasn't wanted to angel proof anything. Maybe that's why he hasn't wanted to go back to the bunker, because the bunker's warded against angels, because Cas doesn't know about the bunker where he and Sam are slowly learning to make a home out of. Maybe that's why he wants to throw himself into his work, into _hunting,_ because this is what he does best, this is what he _knows_ how to do.

He can hunt. And he can fight.

And when Charlie says, "So, what? He just took the tablet and vamoosed?" Dean is reminded vaguely of Crowley and his sneering comments, and how it was Crowley who started this whole mess in the first place and he wants nothing more than to put a knife through the King of Hell's face, wipe that nasty smirk off of his lips, watch as the darkness pours out of that red-eyed bastard's body and dissipates into _nothingness._

"Yeah," says Dean. "Yeah. He took it and left."

There's a moment in which neither one of them speak, and then Charlie says, her voice soft, "He means a lot to you, Cas."

And it's less of a question and more of a statement and Dean doesn't even know how to respond to it. He presses his lips together and gives Charlie what might pass for a smile, or maybe it's a grimace, or a mixture of both, because really he's not even sure what to think anymore except that he really, _really_ wants this whole thing to be over and for Cas to come back.

Except that's not going to happen anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter than I intended it to be, more of a filler chapter, really, to kinda segue into the next part. Sorry about that!


	4. Ten Things I Hate About You

Dean decides that he hates everything because hating everything is easier and when you hate everything nothing hurts because it all feels the same.

He hates Benny for staying behind, for being too _heroic_ for his own good and for ultimately not letting what's left of his humanity pull him forward, instead of being dragged back by the monster. He hates Cas for disappearing on him (again), for finally almost becoming the man he once was and then taking off just when Dean was starting to get answers ( _"You sure do suck at goodbyes"_ ). He hates Bobby for letting himself get dragged down to Hell instead of kicking and screaming his way back to Heaven (it's not fair but right now Dean isn't feeling very fair). He hates Crowley for...well, being Crowley. And he hates Naomi, loathes her for what she's done to Cas, how she's _broken_ him.

But most of all Dean hates himself.

The only person Dean _doesn't_ hate right now is Sam. And possibly Charlie.

The ghost in Waterville, Maine is pretty easy to get rid of; some old psychopath that was haunting his sister's ex-boyfriends in retaliation for one of them killing him. Dean and Sam take him out on the edge of town, with Charlie standing guard, and after they've burned his bones, they head back to their dumpy motel room, smelling of acrid smoke and burnt ashes. Sam takes a shower first, loping into the tiny adjacent bathroom, and Dean just lies there on his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and hating the world.

"So, um."

He's almost forgotten Charlie's there. Dean sits up, wincing a little at how his body aches, and folds his hands together, resting his forearms on his jean-clad knees. "You ready to go back to your place now?" he asks, and shuffles her feet hesitantly, like she wants to say something else. "What?"

"Do you think maybe I could, um, you know, stay here tonight?"

Dean stares at her. "What? Why?"

Charlie flaps her hands, looking both flustered and annoyed - with herself, or with him, Dean isn't sure, but he watches her with a guarded expression, brows drawing together.

"Well, it's just that, you know, I've dealt with things that have tried to eat me (gross, by the way, just _so gross_ ), and stupid people who take control of hot fairy babes to try and get on my good side, and now I've had to deal with seeing my friend get his throat ripped out by a crazed ex-boyfriend ghost with too much time on his hands and I'd really just like to have one day where something goes right, except that's not going to happen, and - "

"You're scared," Dean says, and Charlie shuts her mouth abruptly, looking flummoxed. Then she says, almost sulkily, "Okay, fine, I'm scared. Is that such a bad thing?"

It's not, Dean realizes, not really. It's been a long time since he's ever felt what Charlie's feeling right now; the sort of uncertain terror that stems from not knowing what lies ahead ( _"Sammy's long gone, Dean." "Cas is - he's gone. He's dead. We run the show now."_ ), but there's no forgetting it, no pushing aside the fear. His expression softens a little, Dean clearing his throat, trying not to remember, trying not to let the memories invade his heart.

"Yeah, um..." He coughs, and stands, rubbing his mouth with his fist. Then he stands. "Here, you can take the bed."

"Oh," says Charlie, and waves her hands, smiling. "No, I can sleep on the floor, you know, it's comfy, and - "

"Charlie," says Dean, and she shuts up.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Later on Sam goes out to get more beer, for which Dean is eternally grateful, because right now he could use all the alcohol he can get. His brother drops a Sam Adams into his lap and sets the rest on the dinky table by the window, sitting down on the edge of the bed. In the other bed, Charlie is already asleep, her head of vibrant red hair tucked beneath a grossly colored, off-white comforter that's less like a blanket and more like a glorified napkin.

"She holding up okay?" Sam asks, popping the cap on his own beer, and Dean shrugs, taking a swig, letting it burn down his throat. "As much as she can," he answers, and Sam nods, both of them watching Charlie momentarily before Sam turns back to Dean.

"Are _you_ holding up okay?" he asks, and it's oddly reminiscent of that moment they had before in the car ( _"Cas dinged you up pretty good.")_

"Mmm," Dean grunts, and takes another drink.

They're silent for a moment, and then Sam says, "You never told me."

Dean's brow furrows. "Told you _what?"_

"Who that chick was."

"What chick?"

Sam looks mildly exasperated. "The one who came and fixed Bobby's soul. The one who _beat Crowley?"_

He does not want to talk about this. "...Naomi."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up so fast they disappear beneath his floppy cowboy hair. " _Naomi?_ As in, Naomi that's been controlling Cas?"

Dean rolls his shoulders, lifting his beer. "The very one."

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

And suddenly Dean is angry, and he can't think straight, and the alcohol isn't making him forget the way he wants to, the way he's desperate to, because the pain is too much, too hard, too _much -_

He stands up, kicking his chair aside with a clatter. Sam jumps, startled, but Dean doesn't notice, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose before whirling around to stare at his brother. "Maybe because I've been a little _busy_ lately! Maybe because I've been trying to find our little lost prophet because he up and went cuckoo on us and disappeared to who _knows_ where! Maybe because Benny was a son of a bitch and decided to leave his own ass down in _Purgatory_ instead of coming back up here with you, thinking he doesn't belong! Maybe because Bobby's been in freaking _Hell_ this whole time! Maybe because _Cas - "_

He cuts off because he can't finish the sentence, or maybe he just doesn't want to.

_Maybe because Cas left me, and Benny left me, and I'm just waiting for you to leave me again too because that's what people do._

There is a ringing silence that follows this, long enough that Dean grows uncomfortably aware that he's been shouting loud enough to wake the dead and it's almost three in the morning and oh yeah, Charlie's asleep in the bed right next to them. He glances over at her, but she's thankfully still asleep.

Sam is wearing _Concerned Brother Expression #31._ "Dean," he says. "It's not your fault."

Except it is, so these words are hollow, without much meaning. Dean closes his eyes, feeling as though something heavy is pressing down on top of him, cutting off his air, making it difficult to breathe, to even think, to even _exist._

"Sammy," he says, and it galls him the way his voice sounds, hoarse and raw, like he's got nothing left to give. And maybe he doesn't. "If I hadn't pushed Benny, if I hadn't - "

"Dean," Sam says again, and this time he gets up, walking over to put both of his hands on Dean's shoulders, and Dean is once again reminded just how _tall_ Sam is, how dwarfed he feels by his little brother, who's always been the one that he's supposed to have been protecting this whole time, that he's supposed to have been looking after.

When did their roles get reversed? 

"Dean," Sam repeats. "Benny made his choice. Okay? _He_ made his choice. He gave me and Bobby a way out. That was _his_ choice."

"Yeah, but if I hadn't - " Dean starts, but Sam cuts him off with a shake of his head.

"Nothing you could have done would have changed his mind, Dean."

_"Nothing you could have done would have saved me because I didn't want to be saved."_

How long has he been this useless, this pathetic? It's not a new feeling; merely a reminder of everything that he already knows. Dean already knows that people leave him, that he's not made to have friends, or even acquaintances, because sooner or later they always die or they leave him. Ash, Pamela, Ellen and Jo, Bobby. Even Sam, going off to Stanford, because he didn't want this life, didn't want any of it, didn't even want to stay to be with Dean. And Kevin, running off because Dean didn't listen to him, because he's finally snapped under all the pressure. Cas, always popping in and out as he damn well pleases, and then forcing himself to stay in Purgatory because he'd rather be there than up here, and finally getting out of Purgatory, only to turn right around and leave him again, and Benny -

_"People I don't need anymore...they end up dead."_

_What am I even fighting for anymore?_

He doesn't know the answer to that question anymore. 

Sam seems resigned, weary. There are lines beneath his eyes that weren't there before, dark circles that show he hasn't been sleeping nearly as well or as much as he says he has. His face is paler too, and sometimes it seems he has a harder time carrying himself. The Trials are taking their toll on his little brother, Dean knows, but he also knows giving up before the end is useless - even if he can no longer see the end.

There is no light at the end of this tunnel.

That's what he'll fight for, Dean decides, as he looks at Sam. He'll fight for Sam, because in spite of the fact that Sam didn't look for him while he was in Purgatory, Sam hasn't left him since they've gotten back (even though they've had their differences, and Dean pulled that douchebag move of pretending to be Amelia). Not like other people, not like Benny and Cas, who his heart aches for, even though he tries to push it away from him, tries to shove down those extraneous emotions.

He'll numb himself to it because feeling something just makes things him weaker, makes him more vulnerable.

_" 'Cause the angels...they don't care. I think maybe they just don't have the equipment to care. Seems like when they try, it just...breaks them apart."_

Dean is breaking apart.

Sam's got a worried expression on his face now, but Dean just gives him a tight lipped smile and a nod, holding up the beer bottle as though to indicate that he's fine, that the conversation is over because there's nothing left to say. It's wildly untrue, and they both know it, but Charlie is still asleep and Dean doesn't want to talk anymore and Sam knows this. His hands fall from Dean's shoulders, but not before he gives them a reassuring squeeze, and Dean wants to scream and throw things and hate everything.

But he can't hate everything. Hating is feeling something. So instead he just drinks another bottle - and then another, late into the night, long after Sam's snores fill the air, until it's almost morning and he can't feel anything anymore.


	5. Bunker Buddies

"Wait a second. You want to _what?"_

Charlie's fidgeting from one foot to the other, though she looks less nervous and more determined, her expression the same one she was wearing when she said she wanted to stay and fight for her home in Moondoor. 

Except this isn't Moondoor and Sam and Dean aren't LARPing and _oh yeah, they're hunters from a cursed family line whose friends are all dead._

Or missing, but Dean isn't going there.

"I want to...come live with you guys," Charlie says again, and this time Dean can't really pretend that he's been hearing things because they're standing two feet apart from each other and really why does everything have to be so confusing and messed up and since when did they take people _with_ them, they're _hunters,_ they can't possibly do this and -

Sam is wearing Resigned Expression #42. Dean stares at him.

 _"Really?"_ he says incredulously, and Sam shrugs, fiddling with the keys to the Impala. Dean throws up a _one second_ finger to Charlie and drags Sam back a ways so that he can continue glaring at him with the fires of a thousand suns.

Sam's not buying it and instead does that impossibly irritating thing where he's being rational and it sucks. 

"Well, Dean, it _is_ actually the safest place for her, all things considered. I mean, the place is warded against practically everything, and she could be like our - "

"Do _not_ say Bobby because I will _punch_ you."

" - she could be like our...not Garth. Someone to look things up while we're on a case. I mean," Sam glances back at Charlie, looking down at her phone and nodding her head in time to whatever music she's listening to in her thoughts. "Dean, she's already helped us out like three times with cases. And we wouldn't have gotten past Dick Roman - hell, we wouldn't haven taken _down_ Dick if it wasn't for her."

"So because she's good with Dick, we're going to let her come with us?"

Sam totally ignores the overrated joke and presses his lips together with a finality that Dean really doesn't want to argue with and can't _really_ argue with.

Looks like they've just gotten themselves a third roommate.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

It's not that bad. In fact, it's almost nice, if he doesn't think too much about it. Charlie doesn't take up much space, and although she's a girl, she's not a _girl, girl._ She doesn't talk about hair and makeup and shopping (which Dean and Sam both privately admit that they're grateful for), she cleans up after herself, she's excellent at setting up all of their computer crap, and she doesn't argue when Dean decides that they need to fix the proofing around the bunker about three weeks after this whole living together thing starts.

"Why?" Sam asks, for about the third time in as many minutes, and Dean grinds his teeth together.

"I just want to make sure that it's all good," he says. "You know, double check. Half of these warding symbols were put up before we were even ideas ole Gramps' mind! Can't we just take a day or two to figure out what they all mean? Maybe it'll, I dunno, help us to figure out some clues or something."

"Clues to _what,_ exactly?" Sam asks, completely oblivious, but Dean has already stomped off because arguing with Sam is like arguing with a moose.

The moose doesn't speak your language.

Charlie finds him later, sitting in one of the back rooms that's filled with books, his feet propped up on the table, a bottle of Jack Daniels beside him and a shot glass in his hand. He doesn't hear her come in, his mind about as far away from the bunker as possible, and it's only when Charlie taps his shoulder that Dean starts, sloshing his drink over his hand.

"Jeez!"

"Sorry," she says, not really sounding sorry at all. Dean drops his feet down, and it's evident by the half-empty bottle that he's not exactly in the best of moods at the current moment. Charlie slides into the chair next to him, red hair swinging over her shoulders, and Dean presses the glass against his lips, inhaling the sharp, spicy scent of the alcohol and wondering how much longer he can do this, how much longer he can just _hold on._

"So," says Charlie. "You're imbibing a little early today."

"It's six somewhere."

"Maybe in Australia."

"Find a kangaroo, call me Steve Irwin."

He wonders briefly, fleetingly, whether this room was just a storage room or an actual library. The bunker is full of books, and this room is no exception, but it seems less used than some of the other ones, a thin layer of dust covering most of the volumes. Dean's looking at the titles but he's not really reading them or taking them in, his thoughts automatically shifting from the mundane to something - or rather, some _one_ else - rather quickly as they always do.

He doesn't want to think.

He doesn't want to feel.

"Soooo," says Charlie, and Dean closes his eyes briefly. The glass feels cool against his cheek, where he's holding it.

"You want to de-angel proof the Batcave, huh?"

Dean's eyes snap open abruptly and he swivels around in his chair, staring at her. "What?"

Charlie shrugs. "You want to de-angel proof the Batcave so Cas can come home, right?"

 _Home. What a funny word._ Dean gives a bitter laugh. "This isn't his home."

His voice breaks on the last word, galling him. He clears his throat and takes a quick swig of his drink, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Oh, I don't know." Charlie sounds thoughtful. "I think it's pretty close to a home. Minus the tacky refrigerator magnets and cheesy _Welcome Home_ floor mat."

"Cas has never even _been_ here before."

"Yeah, but he's been with _you."_

That shuts him up. Dean feels his face redden slightly, and he turns away, pressing his lips together in a thin line against the rim of his glass. Charlie doesn't know. Charlie doesn't _understand._ She's new, she hasn't been with them for the past six years. She hasn't seen what he's seen, heard what he's heard, felt what he's felt. She hasn't watched as Cas has gone from a stalwart, unmoving hammer of a soldier, to a rebellious angel with a chip on his shoulder, to an all-powerful, megalomanic God, to a lost, broken, and battered mental patient running away from his problems.

He's seen Cas not remember who he is, playing the role of a dutiful human husband. He's seen the Leviathan wearing Cas's face, grinning maniacally with black blood running down their face. He's seen Cas as the drunken hippy high on whatever drugs he can scrounge, an empty shell of the man he once was. 

And he's seen Cas covered in the dirt of Purgatory, his eyes sad, his mind already made up to stay. 

He's seen Cas take his hand and then let go.

He's seen Cas kill for him, bleed for him, die for him.

He doesn't want to see anymore.

He doesn't want to _be_ anymore.

_"What happened to you?"_

_"Life."_

"...he won't come back," Dean says roughly, and downs what's left in the glass, reaching for the bottle again. But before he can wrap his fingers around the neck of it, Charlie's already swooped it away, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.

"You're gonna make yourself sick," she says, and he glowers at her. "Am not."

"Am too. Listen to me, Dean, I was awake."

There's a long pause in which Dean is dumb.

"Awake?"

She rolls her eyes impatiently. _"Awake._ You know, when you were having your little shouting match the other night?"

He suddenly feels very exposed, more exposed than he has in a long time. Dean snaps his jaw shut, staring at Charlie, who stares right back at him with defiance in her eyes, clearly not backing down on this. He leans slowly back in his chair, his fingers tight around the empty shot glass in his hand, so tight that his bruised knuckles are practically white.

"I know what you're going through sucks," Charlie says. "I mean come on, anyone can see that. It's like, the worst thing right now, your life. I mean, I never knew your friend Benny, and I have no idea who this Naomi chick is or what she has to do with anything, and I really don't know Cas all that well, but you still have friends, Dean. You're not alone."

But he is, and he knows it. He's got Sam, but once they close the Gates of Hell, Sam's gone. Sam's off in his apple pie life with his wife and his dog and their little white picket fence and Dean will be alone again, wandering the endless road, continuing the work his dad left behind. There is no _finishing_ John Winchester's work, because there is no _end_ to it. All this nonsense about how things will be all fine and dandy after the Gates are closed, it's just a bunch of crap. They'll close the Gates, and something else will pop up, something else will take the place of what's missing. 

Only when that happens, Dean will be fighting it alone, because everyone leaves him in the end.

When he doesn't answer her, Charlie lets out a small sigh. "Well, I convinced Sam to let you fix the chicken scratch angel marks anyway," she says, getting to her feet. "Even if you don't think Cas will come back, I've seen the way you look at him, remember?"

Dean has no idea what she's talking about, because Cas is just Cas and he doesn't _look_ at Cas any particular way that he knows of.

_What an ironic statement._

Before she leaves, Charlie sets the bottle of Jack Daniels back on the table beside him, and Dean eyes it warily as though he's afraid it might explode or something (maybe it will). The alcohol numbs him enough to get by, but not enough to forget because nothing he ever does will make him forget that he is still here and the two people that he cares most about besides Sam are not and never will be.

Because everyone leaves him anyway.

"Just thought you should know," says Charlie, and backs out of the room, lifting her hands in a gesture of finality, her hair like a bright, neon beacon in the slightly dim room. Dean watches her go for a moment before he reaches out a hand and drags the bottle towards him, holding it up to look at it as though it's some foreign object. He wants - no, he _needs_ a distraction, something that will take his mind off of everything, off of Cas, and Benny, and Naomi, and Kevin, and Crowley, and everyone and everything, because the more he thinks on it, the less he wants to just sit here helplessly, even though there's nothing they can do. They have no leads on Kevin, the Mysterious Disappearing Prophet, no leads on Cas, and Benny's ass will forever be stuck in Purgatory, leaving the Winchesters with nothing but an unhappy King of Hell and an angel bent on destroying what little hope they have left.

_"It's where I belonged."_

Dean sighs, and pours himself another glass. He is Dean Winchester, brother of Sam Winchester, son of John and Mary Winchester and grandson of the Man of Letters, Henry Winchester. He is a hunter. He hunts monsters, fights demons, kills vampires and wendigos and skinwalkers and every other horrible, nightmarish creature that walks the Earth. And no matter what happens, no matter where he goes, what he does, who he meets, he will always be Dean Winchester, the hunter; the dutiful soldier doing what he's been taught to do because this is the only life he knows.

This is the only path he can see in front of him, and it doesn't end in light.

"You bastards," Dean mutters, and takes another drink.


	6. That Old Black Magic

"You do realize that by doing this, you might let Naomi in."

It's the next day and Sam is wearing his _Dubious Brother Expression #11_ and Dean is patently _ignoring_ Dubious Brother Expression #11.

"I don't think he cares," Charlie stage whispers back, as Dean tugs harder at the beam that's been nailed in front of the angel proofing. He's standing on a stepladder they found in one of the back rooms, hammer in hand, attempting to pry the board off, except it's not going that well and he's already whacked himself in the thumb about three times. It took him ages to find all of the sigils (so far he's found twelve of them; these Men of Letters _really_ did not want any of the God Squad getting in on their turf, that's for damn sure), and one by one he's gone through them, first photographing them and then carefully spraying a single black line of spray paint over them, disintigrating the protection they hold. It's his little pet project for the day, and so far it's managed to take his mind off of other _things._

"Yeah, and if the Queen Bitch comes storming in, we can ask her about Crowley and maybe find out where Kevin is," says Dean, like this is the most obvious thing in the world.

Sam's probably rolling his eyes right about now, if Dean knows his brother well enough (he does), but that's not going to deter him from his goal. He's pretty certain this is the last of the sigils, and with this the invisible barrier that keeps the angels out will be broken, leaving them open to whatever _heavenly visitors_ they might get.

He tries not to think of the only one he'd rather have.

This particular sigil is above Dean's own bedroom door, subtly hidden behind a thin piece of plain dark wood that Dean originally mistook as one of those tacky nameplates. He may or may not have actually written his name on there when no one was looking, but now he's determined to pry it off.

It takes him ten more minutes, two shots of Jack Daniels, a second hammer, and several mocking comments from Sam and Charlie to get the nails free. When it finally splinters away with a creaking _crack_ Dean gives a satisfied "A _ha"_ and yanks until it's entirely off, dropping the pieces of broken wood onto the floor where hopefully Sam will take pity on him and pick them up. 

"Last one?" says Sam.

"Last one," says Dean.

He's not sure why, but his heart seems to be beating just a little faster as he stares at the faded red sigil, reaching for the can of black spray paint tucked (probably stupidly) in his back pocket. His chest seems to constrict, and he has just a brief moment where he hesitates, unsure of whether this is really the right thing to do, whether he's actually going to break the protection on the bunker, all for -

\- no, not for _someone._ No. This isn't because of _him,_ it's so they can trap Naomi in a ring of Holy Fire and burn her ass. Yes, Dean decides, this is a good plan.

_"You're hoping Castiel will return to you."_

_Shut up,_ Dean tells the voice in his head, and shakes the can of spray paint. Somehow the familiar metallic clinking is reassuring, and furthers his desire to get rid of these sigils. Taking a deep breath, he leans back a little, covers his mouth with the back of his free hand, and makes one long black streak across the angel proofing sigil, and then another, until a fuzzy black X is completely covering it.

Silence.

Dean isn't sure what exactly he was expecting. For Cas to just pop back in as soon as the bunker was angel friendly again? For Naomi to come sauntering in with more sickly sweet words and poisonous thoughts? For the _full wrath of Heaven to rain down upon them?_

If he was expecting any of that, he's _sorely mistaken._ Because nothing whatsoever happens except that Sam gives a little cough like he's trying not to laugh.

"Shut up," Dean says.

"I didn't say anything!"

"You were thinking it. Loudly."

 _Little Brother Eyeroll #42._ Charlie claps her hands together and dispels the disgruntled silence that wafts up between them. "Okay," she says cheerfully, almost _too_ cheerfully. "I think now's a really good time to get some lunch going, don't you Sam?"

"Er," says Sam, but Charlie's already dragged him off.

Dean doesn't know what he's feeling. Disappointed? That's not new, though, he's been disappointed practically every day since he's started hunting, and there's no getting around that. Granted, it's been magnified lately by the fact that certain people who shall now remain nameless have let him down, and really that shouldn't be disappointing, but it is, and Dean's decided that it really sucks because what is he even doing, if not saving people? Isn't that the whole point of hunting? Since when did he let himself be dragged and sidetracked into this whole angel and demon mess, to the point where his mind is entirely full of someone it should definitely _not_ be full of?

 _Dad would be ashamed of you,_ Dean thinks, because it's true. John Winchester would never have let his son get off track if he were still alive, let alone get himself mixed up in a bunch of angel crap.

Or maybe he's angry. Angry because Cas is a first rate son of a bitch for just _leaving._ Angry because Benny didn't tell him what he wanted. 

Angry because he shouldn't still be thinking of Cas except he is, like he always is, because Cas is as much a part of him as Sam is now and there's no getting around that, no matter how much he tries to tell himself that he's perfectly fine without Cas, that he should be used to people leaving him. Because the simple truth of the matter has already been put out there - he's already told both himself and Cas the rawest of emotions that he's tried so hard to bury, not once, but twice now.

_I need you._

Because he does need Cas and it kills him that he's not here right now.

Because he said _"I need you"_ and Cas didn't say it back.

Later on, after Dean scarfs down a ham and cheese sandwich and two bags of chips for lunch, he spends his time in his room rereading his dad's journal. Most of it is about the various monsters, of course. Several pages are dedicated to tracking Yellow-Eyes, and Dean leafs through these idly, rereading his past, what he's already been through. There is the usual information about wendigos, an entire chapter on vamps, one or two pages on djinn. It's all things Dean already knows.

There are a few idle notes, however, on some of John's cases, that Dean only reads alone, when he knows Sam isn't around.

_April 1st._

_Met with the coroner's office regarding the killings. I'm pretty sure it's a shapeshifter; it's got all the tell-tale signs, and there was a pile of crap left outside of one of the victims's homes that looks like bloody skin sloughed off. I need to go talk to the victim's next of kin, but that would be his "boyfriend," and that sort of lifestyle just doesn't do it for me. I'm glad Sam and Dean are still too young to understand this sorta thing. Can't imagine what I would do if either one of them turned out queer, but it sure as hell ain't gonna go down while I'm still alive._

The rest of the entry details the signs of the shapeshifter, methodically going through the rest of the case until John is proved right in his findings. Dean runs his fingers over the words almost absently, tracing the letters with his fingers until they feel blurry, sinking into his skin.

But when he pulls his hand away, the words are still there.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

 

He wakes up without knowing that he's fallen asleep. It's abrupt, like getting doused in cold water, and when his eyes open fully, still groggy, he might as well have been, because it's impossible for the person standing by his bedside to be there.

"I'm dreaming."

"Not a chance. Come on, up and at 'em, big boy."

John's diary is facedown on Dean's chest, where he had it propped up while reading. His body feels stiff, uncomfortable, and considering that he fell asleep with his head at an awkward angle against the headboard, it's no surprise. He sits up slowly, wincing, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances to the side, certain he's hallucinating -

\- nope, he's still there. And it's still impossible.

_"The hell."_

A smile makes its way across the intruder's face. "Wrong division. You boys were the ones who got rid of the baby gates around this place, remember? Take down the gates, baby's gonna get out. Or something's gonna get in. And in this case," he gestures to himself. "you get me. You should be _thrilled_ I'm gracing your sorry ass with my presence."

Dean is still sleep hazed, but even in his semi-lucid state _this is still not possible._

"You're dead."

"Correction: I _was_ dead. What, you think dear old _Castiella_ is the only one our big Daddy-O brought back?"

There's a slight pause while Dean considers this, his brain working to catch up.

"...Gabriel."

The smile widens. "See? You're not quite as dumb as you look."

"What," says Dean. "the _hell_ are you doing here."

Gabriel - because this is definitely Gabriel, the _Archangel_ , standing beside his bed in the bunker, as clear as day - rocks back on his heels, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Thought I'd come by and check out the nest you two have carved out." He glances around, eyes roaming from the weapons mounted on the walls, to the Led Zepplin poster tacked above the dresser, to the small photograph on the bedside table, propped carefully up beside the lap. "Looks like I wasn't missing much. It's so _human_ in here. Haven't you ever heard of a new paint job?"

This has got to be a dream. Or maybe he's finally dead. Dean waves a hand, his other pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "No, no, wait. Hold on a second." He points an accusing finger in Gabriel's direction. "You're _dead._ Remember your old buddy? Your brother Lucifer? He _killed_ you."

"I know the punchline, d-bag, thank you very much," replies the angel, with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "I tried to get on Lucy's good side, he didn't take it so well, zip bam boom, lights out for me."

There's a slight pause.

"...sooooo..?" says Dean, waiting for the rest of the story, but Gabriel just shrugs.

"So here I am, okay?" He grins. "Back and just as handsome a devil as I was before."

The slight twitch of Dean's eyebrows is the only indication that he's caught the irony in that statement. He glowers a little longer and says, after waiting for the nonexistent answer, "So why the hell did you come _here?_ I'm sure you've got a hell of a bit of catching up to do, havoc to wreak, humans to mess around with before you kill them - "

"All in good time, big boy, all in good time." Gabriel waves a noncommittal hand. "I thought I'd come visit my favorite apocalypse wreckers first and give you the deets on a little secret I know you'll like."

Dean doubts Gabriel knows _anything_ that will make him like him, unless it has to do with finding the angel tablet again, but he's too tired to argue, and his brain still hasn't caught up to the fact that Gabriel is somehow _alive_ and yes Cas has come back from the dead multiple times, but that's because he's _Cas_ and he always comes back -

 _Except now. And every time since you've prayed to him since you've been in and gotten out of Purgatory,_ says a nagging little voice in his head, but Dean shoves that thought away.

"Like what?" he asks gruffly, and Gabriel looks, ironically enough, like a kid in a candy store.

"Like I know where your dear little Castiel is."

He takes it back - he's _very_ interested in what Gabriel has to say.

Dean is suddenly wide awake, more awake than what he's been claiming to be for days. He drops his hand from his face and stares blankly at the archangel, who is very clearly enjoying holding the upper hand in all of this.

"What the hell," says Dean, keeping his voice as _civil as possible._ Except, you know, _he really doesn't want to be civil right now._ "does that mean. How do you know where Cas is?"

Gabriel looks at him like he's stupid. "Hel _looo?"_ he says. _"Archangel?"_

He knew that. Really.

"Wait, wait," says Dean, because this all seems too sudden, too convenient, too much like something out of a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. "Hold up. You show up here, out of the blue, _alive,_ claiming you know where Cas is, and - "

And suddenly it hits him. Suddenly he _knows._

"...Cas," Dean says, and Gabriel is looking suspicious.

"That's what I just said, douchewad," he says, sounding irritated. "I know where Castiel is, and - "

"No," Dean interrupts him. "No, you don't just know where he is. You didn't just _happen_ across him coincidentally, and you didn't just _magically_ come back from the dead, did you? _He_ brought you back, didn't he? _Cas_ brought you back."

Gabriel is wearing that same trapped expression he was wearing when they first figured out who he was, when they first broke through his facade and discovered the archangel beneath. And Dean knows that he's right, knows that somehow, _somehow_ , Cas is behind this, that Cas is the one that's brought back Gabriel (though Dean can't think of a single good reason why bringing back _Gabriel_ of all people is a good thing). 

Which means that Gabriel's telling the truth. He _does_ know where Cas is.

"All right fine," Gabriel snaps, and Dean's head jerks back up, pulled out of his thoughts. "My nice little bro _Castiel_ brought me back, all right? He's got the angel tablet, and - "

"The _angel_ tablet?" Dean interjects. "That hunk of rock I almost got killed for? I thought that was like the demon tablet, the one to close the Gates of Hell. Doesn't the angel tablet close the Gates of Heaven?"

"Shut up and let me finish, sad sack," Gabriel says, and Dean closes his mouth. "Closing the Gates of Heaven is only a _part_ of the angel tablet. And not that I care about that Girl Scout party up in Heaven, but yeah, it's definitely got the potential to be one doozy of a padlock. But good ole' Metatron wasn't going to take the chance of anything happening to him, so he put in a little _addendum,_ so to speak - a way to bring back the lost souls of Heaven. An _In Case of Emergency_ fire alarm to pull, should he die."

"You don't have a soul," Dean replies automatically, to which Gabriel replies, "Figure of speech."

Dean's head feels as though it's about to explode with all of this new information. It's too much too fast, and he wants to lie down and just sleep away everything, but that's not going to happen anytime soon. So this is what Cas has been doing off on his own? Bringing back the lost "souls" of Heaven? What the hell for? And why did he feel the need to do that _away_ from Dean, off on his own where anything could happen to him? 

_Why did you leave me?_

"Take me to him," Dean says, and Gabriel looks slightly surprised. 

"And why should I listen to you?"

"Because," says Dean, and he steps closer to the archangel, and despite the fact that this is an powerful being, Heaven's most "powerful weapon," he still can't help but be faintly amused that he's at least half a foot taller than Gabriel. "You didn't just come here to gloat about the fact that you're alive again - "

"Actually I did, but by all means, continue your little tirade if it makes you feel better."

" - you came here to tell me something, and that something is that Cas has figured out a way to read the angel tablet, and now he's bringing back dead angels. So here's what we're gonna do. You're going to take me to Cas, right now, or I will dump this vial of holy oil over your head and make good on that promise to turn you into a deep fried angel."

Gabriel snaps his jaw shut. Then he smirks, falling easily back into that same careless attitude he wore as the Trickster.

"Fine. But don't blame me if Castiel doesn't like what he sees."

"Meaning _what?"_ Dean snaps, but Gabriel has already lifted his hand and Dean can hear the all-too-familiar snap of his fingers before he blinks and suddenly he's there.

Wherever _there_ is, really. But Dean isn't focused on the fact that he's standing in what appears to be an old, long-since abandoned cottage on the outskirts of some foreign country with green, green grass that surrounds it, and that the walls were once white but now are splintered and cracked and browning, and the curtains are moth-eaten and long-since faded. He doesn't notice that there is still furniture here, and while it might have been nice once, it's old now, yet still livable, and there's something oddly charming about the place, something strangely pleasant. He doesn't notice that he's just left the bunker without telling Sam or Charlie and they probably have no idea where he is and he doesn't even know what time it is.

What he _does_ notice is the man in the trenchcoat standing in front of the window, holding a familiar black tablet in his hands.

"Cas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're all probably waiting for Cas to finally show up - and here he is (sort of)! Thanks for being so patient with me, guys, this is my first attempt at writing a full-length, long fic and so I'm sorta winging it here.
> 
> I appreciate your support! <3


	7. Dreamland

Listening outside someone's door is _not_ a crime, Charlie decides, not when you have the best interests in heart of the person who the door belongs to. And she definitely does, even if Dean has been an A-class d-bag for several days now, grumping at everyone and acting as though someone's stolen his favorite action figure.

(Except substituting "angel" for "action figure.")

There's also the whole alcohol thing. Charlie loves her booze, that's for sure, and it definitely helps take the edge off of the whole "monster magnet" thing she seems to be carting around, but there's a difference between having a drink every now and then to relax and downing two bottles of Jack Daniels a day like Dean is - or the equivalent in beer. Every time he goes out, it seems, he comes back with a carton of beer, or another six-pack, or a bottle of Jim Beam. So far he's stuck to the basics of whiskey and beer, but next thing they know, he'll be bringing back a bottle of vodka and then it'll all be over.

Despite everything, she worries about him. And besides, there are easier - and safer - ways of trying to forget. Like being the queen bitch in a land of subjects that prostrate themselves at her feet, catering to her every whim - not to mention the hot babes that always seemed to be in abundant supply.

She misses Moondoor.

 _No, seriously,_ Charlie wonders, not for the first time. _What is real life?_

Which is why, when the whole "mysterious angel visitor" shenanigans go down at almost three in the morning, Charlie, crouched outside of Dean's door, doesn't hesitate to go wake Sam and tell him exactly just what has happened.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

To his credit, Cas looks just as tired as Dean feels. There are dark circles beneath his eyes (which are still that same shade of astonishing, impossible blue), and lines on the face of his vessel that weren't there before. And he's leaning against the counter top behind him, as though it's too much effort to stand, the dark stone angel tablet held tightly in his hands, which look careworn and rough. There is also blood on the side of his neck, faded dark red, like it's been there for a while and he just hasn't cleaned it off yet.

The biggest thing Dean notices, however, is the fact that Cas is no longer wearing his trademark trenchcoat. He's wearing a trenchcoat, all right, but it isn't tan.

It's black. 

So is the shirt beneath the suit jacket. The tie is a darker blue than before, almost blending into the black, but it's still, amazingly, tied backwards, and it's this fact that makes Dean almost want to laugh, makes him want to reach out and grab Cas by his tie and pull him forward and -

_Focus._

He also looks stunned, eyes wide, like a startled deer, like he wasn't expecting Dean to be there when he turned around. Which he probably wasn't.

"Hey, Cas," says Dean, as though they're not just meeting again for the first time in a month and the last time Cas tried to kill him and, oh yeah, _Dean's not pissed at him for just up and disappearing without any explanation or reasoning whatsoever._ "Nice place you got here."

It's small talk, and it's pathetic, but it's a start, at least. And at first Dean thinks Cas is going to blip out on him again, that he'll just vanish in that obnoxious manner he does so often because Dean's not supposed to be here, and he knows that, and for the first time in a very long time, he just doesn't care about anything other than making Cas _stay._ He doesn't think about Sam and the Trials, he doesn't think about the fact that Bobby's dead and he misses him so much it hurts, and he doesn't think about the fact that Benny's not here anymore, that he's gone and took a part of Dean with him.

It's just him and Cas, here, together.

Well, and Gabriel. 

"Well?" says the archangel, clapping his hands together and swaggering nonchalantly over towards Castiel, who still hasn't said anything, and who is still staring at Dean as though he's some sort of apparition. "Aren't you gonna say hello to this SOB over here, Castiel?"

Dean glowers, and a muscle in Cas's jaw tenses. After what seems like an eternity, he says, quietly, 

"Hello, Dean."

And there it is, there's _everything._ His voice is the same as it's always been, that low, deep graveling sound that reminds Dean of past promises and words and all sorts of other things that he can't really explain, can't really understand except that it's just Cas, so very _Cas,_ and _damn_ he's missed that voice so much.

"Gabriel," says Cas, and it's amazing how he can put so much weight into a single word, a single name.

"Hey," says the archangel, putting up both of his hands. "I had nothing to do with anything. I just thought I'd pop around, say hello to some of my old favorite yahoos, and Dean here just decided to hitch a ride on the way back."

That same muscle in Cas's jaw tenses again, and he seems about to say something, but Gabriel just says, "Think I'll go visit ole' Hefner now, see if he's still got some of that wine I left him the last time I was there."

And then he's gone and it's just Dean and Cas, Cas and Dean.

For a moment, there's silence, and it's the first time Dean really takes in his surroundings. It's a house of sorts, but a very small one, only one floor and what appears to be only a few rooms. The living room has moss growing through the hardwood floor, which creeps over into the tiny adjacent kitchen, both of which take up less space than Dean's bedroom back in the bunker. There is a door to his right that's closed, and another down the minuscule hallway, their handles overgrown by thin, twisting green vines that wind up around the knob. It's daytime here - or at least, earlier in the day than it is Lebanon, Kansas - or maybe later, he can't quite tell. The grass outside is so vibrantly green it's almost blinding, and it goes on for what seems like miles in all directions. A few large grey boulders sit to the east, casting low shadows, and there are familiar, blood-red sigils on every single one of the filmy windows.

"So, uh," says Dean, breaking the silence, and Cas looks up at him, brows furrowing. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Shaftesbury. Or rather, outside of the town of Shaftesbury." He gestures somewhat lamely at their surroundings. "This place is hidden from human view."

"...Shaftesbury. As in..."

"England."

"You've been in _England_ this whole time?" Dean says, and it comes out a lot sharper than he's intended it to. Something flickers across Cas's face - regret, maybe? surprise? irritation? - but it's gone before Dean can properly grasp at it.

"Yes, I've...been doing research," Cas says, not looking at him, but at the tablet in his hands, and Dean's eyes narrow as he replies, "Research with bringing back the souls of dead angels?"

"Dean - " Cas starts, but the levy is already breaking, _Dean_ is already breaking.

"What the hell, man?" he snaps, taking a step forward. "You snap free of the Heaven bitch's grasp and then just decide to go on a vacation to some log cabin in England? Do you have any _idea_ how worried I was, you freakin' son of a bitch?"

Cas opens his mouth like he's about to say something and then closes it. Dean's scowl grows more pronounced, and so does his anger. How can he just stand there like the past month _hasn't_ been killing him inside, like they didn't go through all of that crap with Naomi together, like they haven't been friends, _best_ friends for the past six years, standing by each other's sides, fighting together, _dying_ together?

Like Dean _didn't_ say "I need you?"

"So what," says Dean, gesturing around at the cottage. Cabin. Place. Whatever it is. "You've been just hangin' out here, catching up on your reading, and you decide to do a little grave hopping?"

"That's _not_ it," Cas says, and he looks up, his eyes so very blue, his mouth set in a straight line. "I didn't come here to...to bring anyone back, I came here to get the tablet away from Naomi. When I found out what it said, I..."

"So you brought Mr. Happy back," says Dean. "Awesome."

Cas's eyes are flashing dangerously. "I didn't just _decide_ on a whim, Dean. These tablets, they're not just for _fun._ They take time, they take energy, they take - "

He stops abruptly, and Dean wonders why he looks so tired, why he looks as though he's been through more than he has. "So what's the deal with bringing your bro Gabe back, then, huh? You couldn't have grabbed one of your other less-dickish frat brothers?"

He thinks of Samandriel, and then tries not to, because most of the angels are junkless douchewads, but Samandriel never was, Samandriel never fell into that category, except Samandriel is no longer a part of the equation because of Naomi, and he doesn't want to remind himself of that.

Cas is back to not looking at him, staring at some place on the floor. "Gabriel wasn't the first."

"Oh, well," says Dean, as if this settles everything. Except it doesn't. "That's just great, that's just fine and dandy, Cas, you bringing back all of your homeboys to hang with."

And Dean feels as though his head is going to split in two, a resounding throb inside of his skull. _All of these people to surround yourself instead of just staying with me. Whatever happened to that lie that you always come when I call? Haven't I been praying to you this whole time, this entire time, for days, for weeks, for months?_

Because really, it's unfair. He's thought of Cas more times than he has any right to. He doesn't know when it happened, or why it happened, or how it happened, but somehow this freaking angel, this former soldier of God, has found his way into his heart, and no matter how many times Dean tries, there's no getting him out. And he doesn't want to get him out, doesn't want to let go because Cas has been one of the only steady things, one of the only constants in Dean's pathetic life. Even with all of their ups and downs, Cas has always just been _there_ , even when they lost contact after Sam went to Hell and Dean tried out the whole apple pie life thing, somehow, Cas was always in his thoughts. His very _existence_ has been there.

He's tried to deny it, and then he's tried not to deny it.

He's tried to pretend as though he hasn't felt this way, and then he's said things like _"I need you."_

He's tried to ignore the pain and the heartache, and then he's let it swallow him whole, consume him until there's nothing left.

 _John Winchester would be ashamed of his son right now,_ Dean thinks, and rubs his forehead tiredly with one hand, trying to keep his cool, trying to stay calm. Cas, at least, is still standing in front of him, which is progress, he supposes, because the angel hasn't up and disappeared on him like he would have in the past.

"So you found a way to read the God rock," says Dean, and Cas gives a slight jerk of his head which turns into a slow nod, his eyes flickering down to the tablet in his hand.

"It was not a simple task," he says. "I had to find Metatron first, and then - "

"Woah, hold up," Dean says, because this in and of itself is monumental news. "You _found Metatron?"_

"Yes," says Cas. "He was hard to track down, but once I found him I was able to convince him to read the tablet for me so I could get the information from it. He's not exactly the most forthright of angels, it took a bit of persuasion, but he eventually gave me a translation."

"And that translation is..."

"How to close the Gates of Heaven."

"Right."

A slight pause, and then Dean says, "And also how to bring dead angels back."

Cas hesitates. "In a manner of speaking."

"The hell does that mean?"

"It's...complicated, Dean."

Dean scowls. "This whole freaking _mess_ is complicated, Cas, that's nothing new."

He wants to ask the biggest question of all - _why_ \- but somehow the word doesn't come, stuck in his throat, unwilling to come out. Dean swallows hard, setting his jaw, and then asks, "So who else have you brought back?"

Cas fiddles with the tablet. "Gabriel."

"I got that memo, actually, but thanks."

"Balthazar."

"Awesome. We can always use a little more crass sass in the world."

"Rachel."

"Who the hell is Rachel?"

"My former Lieutenant. She was...killed unjustly in my fight against Raphael."

"Oh, Jeannie. Right."

"Inais. A few others who were on my side during the war."

"Sounds just peachy."

He waits for the name "Samandriel" but it doesn't come. They stand there in silence for a few moments longer, and then Dean says, "Anyone else?"

"...no. That's...that's it."

The world around them seems to move, yet they're not. There's an invisible barrier between the two of them that Dean can't seem to break through, that he can't seem to push aside, snap, get rid of. It's like the further he tries to reach out, the farther away Cas is, the wider the distance between the two of them becomes. He can't afford to make that distance any wider, because with every step it's painful, every breath it's harder to breathe.

_What happened to us?_

"So," says Dean. "Have you done anything about, you know..." He waves a hand, then sticks both of them in his pockets. "Closing the Gates of Heaven?"

There's a moment in which he thinks _if you close them, won't you go with them and be sealed there forever?_ and he starts to inwardly panic, because he can't handle that right now, can't handle losing Cas after he's just gotten him back.

Thankfully, however, Cas says, "Not yet" and Dean can breathe normally again. "But you know how," he says, and Cas nods. "Is it hard?"

"A little," Cas consents. "But it would...require some great sacrifices."

Dean doesn't want to think about what sort of sacrifices that refers to. "Well," he says. "I need you to come back with me."

Cas looks, not startled, but almost resigned, as though he's expected this. "Dean..."

"Come on, Cas!" Dean says, and takes a step forward. "Kevin's gone AWOL on us, Sam's _dying_ out there with the Trials, and we still have both Crowley and that Naomi bitch on our tails. We need you."

 _I need you,_ he wants to say, but the words die in his throat.

"Dean, I can't," says Cas, and Dean feels a surge of irritation, a wave of anger was over him.

"Why not?" he asks roughly. "Because you're _protecting_ the tablet? Because you wanna spend more time here with your frat bros? Because you're _afraid_ of Naomi?"

"I'm not afraid of her," says Cas, and it's surprisingly calm, which somehow makes Dean angrier. He steps closer, and in this small house with its moss covered floors and tiny rooms, there's not much distance between the two of them now, only a few feet. 

"Then why are you hiding out here?" 

"I needed...I needed some time. I need to protect this tablet from Naomi at all costs."

"But you also said that you need to protect it from _me,"_ Dean says, and takes another step. "What the hell does that mean?"

Cas looks troubled. "Dean," he starts to say, but Dean isn't having any of his shit today, he doesn't want answers that aren't really answers, he doesn't want circular reasoning that goes nowhere, he doesn't want to be _left behind_ like he always is, even though he's not worth sticking around for, even if his emotional baggage weighs down on everyone that he meets.

"Tell me the truth," says Dean, taking another step, and they're only a foot away from each other now, close enough that Dean can see the flecks of darker blue in Cas's eyes, can see the way his chest rises and falls, despite the fact that he's an angel and he doesn't need to breathe, can see the way he presses his lips together with uncertainty and - _is that fear?_ _"Tell me what you meant, Cas._ Why does the tablet need protecting from me?"

"And that," says a familiar voice. "is an _excellent_ question."

And the next moment they're back in the bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for being patient with me!
> 
> Also I just have this thing about Cas in a black trenchcoat sob
> 
> (It's based off of the one on my tumblr, wisemerlin.tumblr.com, just in case you're curious)


	8. Blown Away

"I am not," says Dean. "talking anymore without a beer."

Because really that's what it's going to take to get him to relax right now, a beer, or maybe two, or three, or a whole dozen because everything is so messed up and everything is so confusing and awkward and seriously could life get any more _Real Housewives_ right now?

He's sitting in the Men of Letters bunker and Sam's on one side of the table, laptop in front of him, and Charlie beside him, looking only slightly guilty, but mostly stubborn. Behind them, Gabriel is strolling around looking as pleased with himself as ever, with none other than the angel of sass and _total unhelpfulness_ himself, Balthazar, a glass with some amber liquid in his hand. Cas is seated opposite Sam, and Dean is at the head of the table, except with his forehead pressed onto the wood like somehow if he tries hard enough he'll melt into it and disappear and when he wakes up all of the crazy will be gone.

Except that's not going to happen anytime soon.

"So wait," says Sam, definitely not getting up to get him a beer, and Dean sits up, scowling. "You want us to...stage a war. With Heaven."

"No," says Balthazar. "With Naomi. So wait, yes."

This is the ass of an angel who dragged them back from Shaftesbury in the first place because _someone_ told Sam what had happened between Dean and Gabriel and then _those two someones_ had taken a chance and summoned him - a fact that makes Dean disgruntled because he had been _this close_ to getting the information out of Cas, and now the angel is looking as decidedly mute as ever, silently staring down at his hands.

Dean is trying not to constantly look at him.

Sam presses his lips together in _Frustrated Brother Expression #82._ Behind him the warding sigils painted across the door glow a faint red, a bloody red. They can't put up angel repelling sigils because of obvious reasons, but they've used the same protection sigils they once used against Hester and her garrison to try and keep Naomi from finding them. "And how exactly are we supposed to do that?" he asks, not-so-surreptitiously hiding a cough, which Dean definitely sees, and it makes his chest constrict, makes his stomach twist unpleasantly because how much more is Sam going to have to be pushed before he breaks? "It's not like we've got the juice to gank an angel, especially not one like Naomi."

"Are you saying you're not interested?" says Balthazar, arching a brow, and Dean wants to punch that smug look off of his face because there's nothing he wants _more_ right now than to stab Naomi through her perfectly made up face.

Except maybe figure out what the hell is up with Cas.

Sam now just looks exasperated. "That's not what I'm saying," he says. "I'm saying that even if we go up against her, Dean and I are still just humans. Charlie's not even a hunter - no offense."

She just rolls her eyes, and Dean is reminded forcefully and unexpectedly of Jo, of her tear streaked face, her trembling lips as she looked up at him for the last time, dying an unworthy death in a building about to explode and damn he misses her, misses Ellen, misses Bobby and Benny and everyone that was once in his life, that he once saw smile.

And he misses Cas.

"Yes, you're two very overgrown moose humans," says Gabriel, and Dean is dragged back to reality. "Listen you SOBs, we don't need you to fight Naomi, we just need you to fight _with_ us so that we've got a distraction for her, toys to play with. The three of _us - "_ He gestures to the angels currently present. " - can handle Naomi. We've got a few other bitches to call too."

"Oh, so we can be your bait?" says Dean sarcastically, because Gabriel is getting on his nerves just as he did before. "Yeah, no thanks. If we go up against the queen bitch of Heaven, you're damned straight I'm gonna be fighting right up against her. I've got a bone to pick with Professor Umbridge over there."

"She's not a professor," says Cas out of the blue, still looking at his hands, and Dean grunts, sighs, and rolls his own eyes.

Charlie holds up her hands. "Okay, okay, hold on," she says, and all eyes turn towards her, making her shrink slightly in her chair, her flaming red hair falling across her face. "You guys are talking about this Naomi chick, but what about that other d-bag, t-the one with the um - "

She flounders, Sam says "Crowley?" and Gabriel says, "Oh, we'll take out the King of Hell while we're at it too."

"Oh," says Dean, waving a hand. "Well. You make it sound _so easy._ Let's just kill the Queen of Heaven and the King of Hell and all have a happy dandy afternoon playing tag."

"Sounds kinky."

"Shut up, Gabriel."

"Why don't you come and make me, big boy."

"Oh, you have no idea how much I'd like to try."

_"Stop."_

There's a sudden scrape and a movement. Cas has stood up, and while he doesn't look angry, he just looks _tired_ and Dean's eyes follow the movement of his head as he lifts it, trying to piece back together the puzzle that's been broken for so long.

"Dean," says Cas. "Sam. I didn't want to get you involved because we don't need you."

"Cassie," Balthazar starts, but Cas shakes his head. His hands are holding the tablet, and he takes a step backwards, away from the table, away from Dean.

"We can do this without them," he says quietly. "We shouldn't involve the Winchesters in anything more than what we already have."

"The hell does _that_ mean?" Dean snaps, but Cas has already moved away, down the hall to another room, out of his reach.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Sometimes Charlie wonders about her life.

Scratch that, every day Charlie wonders about her life.

She doesn't exactly know the deets of what's going on, but the room in the Winchester bunker is so full of tension that it's almost tangible. Charlie is still sitting at the table with Sam, with the one called Gabriel who's an archangel behind them, and the one called Balthazar who likes booze and making unhelpfully snarky remarks to anything anybody says.

And then of course, there's Cas.

Charlie doesn't understand Cas. She's only met him once before, and it was incredibly brief, enough that she didn't have enough time to make him stay in her thoughts. But what she _does_ remember is that same weariness as before, the same tiredness, as though the weight of the world is on his trenchcoat-clad shoulders and there's nothing to be done to lift that burden.

And she remembers the way he and Dean look at each other.

They're looking at each other now, as a matter of fact - or rather, Dean is looking at Cas's back as he walks away, and there's so much in his gaze that it almost makes Charlie wish she were somewhere else, because it feels so _intense_ , like she's intruding in private moment between the two of them. There's something dark and heavy in Dean's eyes, and she wonders if he's trying to say something, wanting to say something, but just can't. Charlie and Sam had summoned Balthazar with the intent of figuring out where Dean and Cas were, but now she wonders if they should have just let them be, let them figure out whatever mess is between them, because something is seriously off.

Not for the first time, she wonders what exactly their relationship is.

"Cas, wait," Sam calls after him, but the angel doesn't stop until he's out of sight, and then it's just the five of them in the main room of the bunker.

"He's still got that stick up his ass, I see," says Balthazar, and Charlie catches Dean's jaw tighten, a look of irritation flashing across his face.

"So, er," she says quickly, trying to dispel the tension before it snaps. "How do we go about defeating the bad guys, then? I mean, angels aren't like leviathan, right? Can't just chop off their heads, zip boom bah, they're dead?"

Sam's lips twitch, as though he's fighting a smile. "Unfortunately it's not that easy," he says. "Angels are pretty tough skinned. They can only be killed - "

" - by one of these babies right here," interjects Gabriel, holding up a slender silver blade that wasn't there a minute ago. "Nasty little clause in our contracts if you ask me, but Daddy-o wanted to make sure we had a way of getting rid of the less respectable of our kind."

He twirls it around, then mock-stabs Balthazar, who falls dramatically to the ground, clutching his chest, and then collapsing in an entirely unrealistic manner.

Charlie wonders if this is what angels do when they're bored.

"At any rate," says Balthazar, who is now standing like he was never lying down, and how did he even get up so fast, she didn't even see him move. "We want to take out the king and queen, and well, little Cassie here is a bit unhappy with the arrangement, probably because Cas Dear Johnned him while he was running around playing hide and seek with the tablet - "

Dean gets up and leaves the table without a word.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

It's determined that, in spite of Castiel's objections, the Winchesters (and Charlie) will assist the angels in taking down Naomi. Charlie isn't so sure this is a good idea, what with her being, you know, _not a hunter,_ but Dean says she'll be of some use anyway and "will keep him distracted from stabbing those two dickheads in the face."

He's definitely not talking about Naomi and Crowley.

They formulate a plan together, which is mostly Sam doing all the talking and Dean trying to keep Balthazar and Gabriel from being complete asses. They'll drive to an abandoned factory several miles away from the bunker, summon Naomi and Crowley, and then let all Hell (or Heaven) break loose. Seeing as how it's not known that Cas has brought back several angels assumed dead, Gabriel and Balthazar, along with an angel called Inais and one called Rachel, will be their wild cards, their backup. Sam and Dean and Charlie will go in first, with Cas waiting in the wings (Charlie's joke just makes everyone stare blankly at her, and then Sam coughs, like he's trying not to laugh, and then they all just continue on talking). 

It's a pretty _not-good plan,_ but, as Dean says, _what have they got to lose?_

 _My sanity,_ Charlie thinks.

The night beforehand is filled with loud music, booze, and plenty of everyone not giving a damn because, as Sam puts it, "this might be our last night and we should let the boys be boys."

This, of course, means Gabriel inviting a harem of women over, Balthazar spending a great deal of time in a room off to the side with several giggling foreign beauties (Charlie is secretly envious of his ability to attract the hottest chicks), and Dean sulking in a corner. Cas is nowhere to be seen, and Sam is by himself at one of the middle tables, absently scrolling up and down something on his laptop, a forgotten glass of bourbon in his hand. He looks tired, Charlie notes, worn out, and she pats his shoulder reassuringly as she walks over to sit by Dean, who is on the floor, leaning against a bookshelf. And, unlike his cautious brother, he's got an entire bottle of bourbon in his hand.

"Sooo," says Charlie, after a moment of silence has passed by. "How are you doing?"

Dean snorts. "Awesome."

"I think you're full of crap."

"I think you're probably right."

He takes another swig, straight from the bottle, then offers it, surprisingly, to Charlie. She takes it and downs a swallow, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and settles down beside him, hands in her lap.

Another moment of silence passes.

"You know, all of this is just..." Dean waves a hand carelessly, half gesturing towards Gabriel, across the room, who is currently tossing back shots with a busty brunette coiled in his lap. 

"All of..." Charlie prompts, and he sighs. _"This,"_ he says.

Like that makes any more sense.

"It's all just...stupid." Dean takes another drink, and the amber liquid sloshes around in its bottle, a familiar sound.

"Stupid because we're probably all gonna die tomorrow?" Charlie asks, half teasingly, bumping her shoulder against his, and he cracks the faintest of smiles, the corners of his lips turning upwards reluctantly. But Charlie's voice drops lower hesitating, and she picks at a stray thread on her jeans, winding it around her finger, inhaling a small breath before speaking.

"Or stupid because...you'd rather be with someone else right now?"

She knows immediately that it's the latter. Dean freezes, his entire body tensing, as though preparing for _something_ \- but then it eases, just as quickly, and he lets it go, gives it up, and his shoulders relax, the tension slipping away until he's slumped back against the bookshelf, one leg drawn up, his arm draped across his knee.

"...how do you do it?"

He's looking at the ground. "Do what?"

"How do you..."

He trails off again, and Charlie says lightly, "How do I be with another chick?"

Dean's cheeks flush slightly red, and he presses his lips together, taking a deep breath, and for the first time since Charlie's met him, he doesn't look like the big, brawny hunter she's used to. He doesn't look like the guy who slammed a necromancer, fought beside her in Moondor, took down the entire leviathan hivemind and it's creepy dickish leader (pun intended). He's just a man. A tired, worn out man trying to hold his little family together, trying desperately to be the glue that keeps Sam sane, that keeps Castiel by his side.

A man who's probably spent his entire life being taught one thing when he feels another.

Charlie doesn't understand a lot of things, but she understands this.

She looks at the floor, a little smile on her face. "You know," she says, and Dean shifts beside her. "It was pretty obvious for me. I mean, I grew up in a pretty lameass situation. Foster care for most of my life, and then when I was eighteen I went to college, became brilliant, worked for Dick Roman, then yada yada yada. My life changed a lot; I kept going from one place to another. That's sort of what I do, I guess."

"I know the feeling," Dean mutters, and Charlie smiles.

"But where other things were pretty messed up..." She shrugs. "I always knew who I was, you know? And it was really easy to see that, because it was the one constant I had in my life. I always knew I liked chicks, but I never told any of my foster parents, because I didn't want them to kick me out. Some of them were pretty, uh...yeah, well, let's just say they wouldn't have liked me."

Dean's fingers are moving slowly around the neck of the bottle of bourbon, and he's not looking at her, his expression inscrutable, his eyes looking far away.

"Anyway," Charlie continues, still pulling at the stray thread. Around them the music pounds through the bunker, reverberating through the floor. "I think I was always putting it off in the back of my mind, but when I was in college I...met this girl, and she was just the hottest babe, I mean, she had this gorgeous blonde hair and she just laughed so beautifully..."

She trails off, leans her head back. 

"Well, anyway." Charlie leans forward again, turning so that she's looking at Dean and it's only he turns to look at her that she continues, a smile on her face because this is Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire, one badass bastard, a guy who's based his life on being tough and killing the bad guys, hunting the things that go bump in the night. And, Charlie thinks, this is what defines him - what he _thinks_ defines him, what he has had drilled into his mind for so long.

Charlie wonders if his father was one of _those_ people.

"It's okay, you know," she says, and Dean's brow flickers in confusion.

"What's okay?" he says, and Charlie tilts her head, her arms around her legs, resting her cheek against her knees.

"That you're in love with Cas," she says, and Dean inhales sharply, his expression more pained than Charlie has ever seen. Her face softens, and when she says, "You are, aren't you," Dean doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything except press his lips together and take another deep, shaky breath, and she knows she's right, knows that this is what's making him look at Cas the way he does, makes him think the way he does. 

He's not defined by Cas, but by his love for the people who he gives himself to.

Charlie reaches out, and her fingers find his wrist, squeezing it.

"It's okay," she says, and she means it. Maybe tomorrow they'll all die, and man that's a terrifying thought because she really doesn't want to die before she at least gets a chance to see Gilda again, she doesn't want to die at all, not now, not ever, not like this, but right now, in this moment, it is okay.

And maybe it'll be okay later too.

"So if it's okay," Charlie says. "Why are you still sitting here with me?"

Dean is just looking at her, like he doesn't know what to say, or what to do, and all of a sudden he reaches out, and his hand is on the back of her head and he's pulled her towards him, his lips against her forehead. It's a quick kiss, brief, and it surprises her, but Dean doesn't say thank you, or even anything else. Instead, he lets go, gets to his feet, and then he's down the hall, disappearing into one of the back rooms, and she doesn't have to ask where he's going because she already knows.

Charlie reaches for the bottle beside her, picks it up, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little hard writing for Balthazar and Gabriel, so if they seem a little OOC, I'm sorry @_@ still getting the hang of writing fanfic again hahaha
> 
> Thanks for your support and patience! <33


	9. Wake Me Up

He finds Cas in one of the back rooms that used to be some sort of library. Standing there in his neatly pressed black trenchcoat, black pants, and black shirt, he looks less like the Angel of Thursday and more like the Angel of Death, except Dean's pretty sure the Angel of Death wouldn't be standing in the Batcave reading a book entitled _Great Native American Civilizations of the West._

"Hey," he says, and Cas doesn't look up, doesn't even indicate that he's heard Dean except maybe to turn a page.

Rude.

Leaning against the doorway, Dean slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans and watches him for a moment, just watches him. Charlie's words are still fresh in his mind, but something still doesn't feel right, something feels very off. Maybe it's Cas, or maybe it's just him, or maybe he just is so tired of everything being _not right,_ but Dean can't seem to muster up the energy to be angry about it.

He's too tired.

"So," he says, and pushes himself off the door frame, taking a few steps further into the room. "Last night on earth. What, ah...what are your plans?"

_"There are two things I know for certain. One - Bert and Ernie are gay. And two, you are not gonna die a virgin. Let's go."_

_Remember,_ Dean thinks, begs. _Remember._

The memories are like the waves of the ocean, ebbing back and forth in his mind, and each time they rise, they take away a little bit of something else with them to lose forever in an endless sea. In this case, it's the part of Dean that he holds most dear, that he hardly ever lets see the light of day because he's too afraid to let it out, too filled with self-deprecating emotions that he can never seem to really understand what it is about him that's so good.

_"You don't think you deserve to be saved."_

At the time, he hadn't, even though he'd desperately wanted to be, had wanted to get back to Sam, back to Bobby, back to _living._ Being alive did not make him worthy of being pulled out of Hell by a freaking _angel._ All of his past mistakes, all of his past disappointments, all of his past _failures_ did not make him worthy to be alive. Why should he get special treatment when everyone else around him he loves is dying?

_Bobby._

_Jo._

_Ellen._

_Ash._

_Pamela._

_Rufus._

_Adam._

_Emma._

_Dad._

_Mom._

_Sammy._

_Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas -_

_What makes him so damn special?_ Because there's nothing in Dean's mind that can atone for his past, that can wipe away the disappointment laid thick across him by John Winchester. There's nothing that can make up for the times that he's failed Sammy, that he's failed in his duty to protect his little brother, because for over thirty years that's all he's known how to do - protect Sammy, protect his precious little brother.

Until he met Cas.

Charlie is great, but Charlie is wrong, Dean thinks, because he doesn't know how to love anyone else other than Sam. He's spent his entire life dependent on that one aspect because it was all he was ever taught, all he was ever told how to do. Sam is the only thing that he knows how to protect - or at least he was, until an angel was thrust into his life unexpectedly, because Cas is not what Dean had ever bargained for, Cas was never supposed to be a part of the equation, and now he is so ingrained within Dean's mind that sometimes he can't breathe, can't think straight.

But just like John, just like Sam, just like everyone else, Cas has left him.

"...I thought I'd just...sit here quietly."

The voice snaps him out of his thoughts, makes him drag his head upwards so fast he almost cricks his neck. Cas is still not looking at him, but his cheeks are very faintly red, and he's stopped turning the pages of the ancient volume in his hands.

And Dean is so in love, so very in love that he doesn't know how to handle it and John Winchester would be ashamed of his own son.

"Cas," he says. "Why did you leave?"

There's a _snap_ and a cloud of dust is expelled upwards as Castiel closes the book, giving a small sigh that sounds almost resigned. "I had to," he says, and slips the book back onto the shelf, turning so that he's facing Dean entirely now, and Dean can see the crooked, backwards tie.

_"I ran away."_

_"You ran away?"_

_"I had to"_

_No,_ Dean thinks, _no._

"Why?"

"Because...because of the tablet."

"...what?"

"You're the only one."

"The hell does that mean?" Dean demands, because this is making no sense, no sense at all.

Cas looks frustrated. "The only one who can close the Gates of Heaven," he says. "Is 'the Righteous Man whose fearsome faults lie in Hell.'"

There's a long, drawn out silence that rings so loudly it's almost painful. 

Finally -

"You gotta be kidding me."

Cas is shaking his head. "I didn't know it at the time, that you were the only one. When I touched the tablet the first time, in that crypt, I just had this...overwhelming feeling - this... _sensation,_ that I was to protect it, that I was to take it away from Naomi...and from you. It was only after I found Metatron and got him to translate that I fully understood the meaning of just what your connection to this tablet was."

This is really too much. "Are you sure that it can't refer to some other poor bastard that's down in the Pit? I mean, there were hundreds, thousands, _millions_ of people down there - "

"It's you, Dean," Cas says quietly, and Dean snaps his jaw shut and thinks how _really unfair life is sometimes._

For several moments they just stand there in silence, Dean's brain working to comprehend this new information. He can understand why Cas left, can understand the reasoning behind it, but the underlying hurt refuses to go away, refuses to dissipate. It's eating him away inside, chewing him up and just waiting to spit him out.

And he's angry because he's in love with Cas but he doesn't want to be because sometimes it just hurts too much and sometimes it's because he can't shake the feeling that this is somehow _wrong,_ that feeling this way about another man is _not right_ and somewhere in the back of his mind he can hear his father's voice, pressing against his skull, sinking into his thoughts - a never ending litany of disapproval, disgust, and shame.

"Cas," Dean says. He takes a step forward.

Cas takes a step back.

They're doing a dance.

"Cas," Dean says again, and Cas refuses to look at him, his eyes on the floor. And Dean is now close enough that he can lean to the side, catch his gaze, drag it back up, just like he did in that beautiful room all those years ago.

"Are you really just going to sit here quietly?"

There is a long, drawn out silence, neither one of them breaking their gaze, neither one of them willing to take that step back away, to sever this connection that's so _present_ it's almost tangible, and this is how it used to be between them, this is how it all started.

_"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition."_

Dean has spent his entire life regretting. He does not want to spend what might be their last night alive with regret.

Cas's eyes are so blue blue blue blue _blue -_

"...no."

And that's all it takes, that's all Dean wants to hear, all he needs to hear, because he snakes a hand around the back of Cas's neck, pulls him forward, and then they're kissing and it's like nothing Dean has ever felt before, like nothing he's ever known before. Cas's hands are on his shoulders, fingers digging into his arms, and Dean raises his other hand so that he's cupping Cas's face in his palms, sliding down to the back of his neck, tilt his head upwards more. And his thoughts are confusing, messy, tangled, messed up, just like he is, just like they _both_ are, but it doesn't matter, not anymore, because nothing has ever felt so right as this does right now.

Cas pulls away, pushing him with a rough _"Dean - "_ but Dean grabs the lapels of that damned black trenchcoat and hauls him back again, and this time Cas's hands are on his face, on his jaw, in his hair, and his arms go up and around Dean's neck like he meant to put them there all along, and Dean's arms are sliding around Cas's waist, pulling him so close there's no end to it and it's like he's on fire, like he's been waiting his entire life for this single moment.

And maybe he has.

He backs Cas up against the bookshelf, which he hits with a clatter, volumes falling down about their feet, but Dean doesn't care anymore because all he can see is _Cas_ and there's nothing else but the two of them. His lips are almost bruising against his, twisting so that he can deepen the kiss, so that he can taste more, because he wants it, because he wants _all_ of it, and Cas tastes like honey and alcohol and fresh air on his tongue and it's addicting, and he wants more. He drags his mouth from Cas's and instead presses it against the angel's neck, and he can hear a sharp intake of breath, Cas's fingers pressing brutally hard against his upper arm. Dean kisses his way down his neck, then back up, biting at his jaw before claiming his lips again.

And somewhere in the back of his mind he can hear _"I'm an angel. You're just a man"_ and maybe he is just a man, maybe that's all he'll ever be, but Cas is here and Cas is responding and that damned angel who _wasn't supposed to be_ is gripping him now just as tightly as he was when he was pulling Dean out of Perdition.

Several moments pass before either of them comes up for air, and finally Dean is the one to move his head back, just a fraction of an inch, to let them both breathe. Cas's face is flushed, and his eyes are not quite as focused as they were before, though they're still just as blue.

"Dean," he whispers, and their mouths are hardly an inch apart, close enough that Dean can still taste the words, and he leans forward, a smile forming as he whispers, "Cas," and it's right against Cas's lips so that the words are imprinted there, sealed with another kiss, this one gentler, softer, just a simple touch. Dean lifts a hand, smoothing it across Cas's forehead, his hair, then down his face so that his palm is pressed against his cheek, his thumb under his jaw. And then he leans forward so that their foreheads are together, and closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, and despite everything, despite the fact that life undoubtedly sucks, that Kevin is off who knows where, that Benny's gone, that Bobby's gone, that they're probably all gonna die tomorrow, at least he, Dean Winchester, will die with this one fragment of time.

"Dean."

"Hmm..?"

"I...I have to tell you something."

Dean is sleepy now, his hands still against Cas's face, foreheads together, his voice gruff as he says, "What is it?"

"The...sacrifices I mentioned. The ones for reviving the souls of the lost angels."

"What about them?"

"...they're mine."

There's a long pause. Dean opens his eyes, pulls back, looks down at Cas.

"What do you mean, they're _yours?"_

Cas's expression is a stricken one. 

"The sacrifice to be paid, the spell to revive the angels..."

Dean is getting angry now, because there's something growing in his stomach, a terrible, anxious, awful feeling that's beginning to spread outwards, threatening to choke him.

"Just tell me what the hell the sacrifice is," he snaps, and Cas jerks a little, his eyes flickering.

"My Grace."

If Sam came dancing through the library dressed in a moose suit and dancing with Charlie and announcing he's getting married to Crowley at this very moment, it would have had less impact as that one statement, those two simple words. 

"Cas," says Dean, because that's all he _can_ say, because no, no, this isn't happening, this is not what's happening. "Cas, what the _hell - "_

Cas lifts his hands, both of them on the side of Dean's face, and he says "Dean, please - " and he's trying to explain, trying to say what it is that he wants to, but Dean's not listening because everything is suddenly falling into place, everything is suddenly making a whole freaking lot of sense, more sense than he ever wanted it to, because _no -_

The tiredness.

The blood on his neck.

The dark circles beneath his eyes.

The very _human_ response to almost everything that has happened.

_"Certain sacrifices must be made."_

Cas's Grace is slipping away.

"Do you mean to tell me," Dean says, and he can hardly keep his voice under control. "That you're tearing your own Grace out, that you're _killing yourself from the inside out_ to bring back a couple of your douchey frat brothers? You're _destroying_ yourself to play God - _again."_

"Dean, I still have some left, enough left. Dean, please - " Cas tries again, but Dean is so far gone because no, this is not right, this is not fair.

He's finally let his heart out and now he pulls it right back in and seals it away in the blackness.

"No," says Dean, because he's hurting, because he's already lost Cas so many times it's not even funny anymore, but this - this can't be happening.

"No, Cas."

He shakes his head, feeling the blackness starting to consume him, turns, and walks - runs - away, down the hall, away from Cas, away from everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may or may not be the last, I haven't decided yet~


	10. Freedom is a Length of Rope

By six AM the next morning, everyone is dressed and ready to go.

Everyone, that is, except Sam, who is still sleeping, and Dean stomps around with the look of an angry mama bear, threatening that if anyone wakes his little brother _there will be Hell to pay._

Gabriel rolls his eyes, Balthazar makes a snide comment about _Sleeping Beauty,_ Cas remains as stoically silent as ever, and Charlie just nods, her head bobbing up and down. 

Out of all of them, she's probably the weakest link, what with the whole being a human thing - a human who wasn't trained to hunt like the Winchesters were, because even though Sam looks as though he's on his deathbed these days (maybe he is), he still can whoop ass with the best of them. This doesn't make her feel _entirely_ useless, since she knows she has _some_ skills - though hacking into various computer databases somehow doesn't seem _quite_ that applicable when you're going up against the King of Hell and the Queen of Heaven.

Needless to say, Charlie still feels somewhat... _lacking._

Or maybe _mortal_ is a better word for it.

"Dean?"

_"What."_

_Someone's in a bad mood._ "Are you okay?"

Maybe that wasn't the best question. Dean's eyebrows look permanently drawn into an irritated scowl.

"Yes."

"Liar."

The scowl deepens. "I'm fine."

She shifts on her feet, leaning closer. She can hear Gabriel and Balthazar sniping at each another in the kitchen a short distance away.

"Did something happen with...you-know-who?"

Another scowl.

"...or did something _not_ happen?"

_If looks could kill._

But Charlie holds her ground, because this is Dean Winchester, and if there's anything she's learned about him over the past year of knowing one another, the past several months of _living_ together, it's that Dean is one hell of a stubborn ass, and while he can kick some serious demon trash, he's got the personality of an overgrown teddy bear.

"...I'm fine," Dean says again, after a moment, and Charlie gives him a Look that clearly indicates she knows he's _full of it._ She swings her arms and watches Cas, across the room, as he absently traces a finger down the tablet that rests on the table beside him. Dean's watching him too, and there's something very sad in his gaze, something melancholic, and Charlie wishes she could do something about that, because the way Dean looks at him is so very _intense_ \- except not usually filled with this sort of sadness. And she suddenly has doubts that maybe she's misjudged the whole thing, maybe Dean's feelings for Cas are unrequited, maybe she read too much into it (as always).

"Look, I know I'm not the _best_ judge of relationships," Charlie says, and a muscle in Dean's jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth together. "Seeing as how I basically live life as a monster magnet and the one time I could have gotten lucky with a hot fairy, you two had to butt in and ruin it."

Dean gives her a Look, and Charlie's lips twitch, concealing a smile. It fades, however, as she continues.

"Whatever he's done that's made you upset - do you really want to spend your maybe last day on Earth thinking about it?"

Dean exhales slowly, and Charlie thinks maybe she should take her own advice, but it hasn't even really sunk in yet that this might be their last day on Earth, that they might lose this battle, because a) these are the Winchesters - they're the ones she read about in those terribly awesome Carver Edlund books (the ones Dean promptly dumped in the trash when he found them in her duffle bag), and b) they've got at least three angels on their side, with a few more up their sleeve. And that means they've got the upper hand, doesn't it? That means they can win, right? Against the...King of Hell...and the...Queen of Heaven...

Or maybe she's just in denial.

They haven't planned on going to the warehouse until five o'clock that evening, Charlie discovers, which means they're all up at six AM for _no apparent reason._ But Dean makes them run through the plan over and over again, getting it through everyone's skulls into it's so repeated that Gabriel finally gets fed up and goes on a tirade about how _really he could be doing something much more fun right now - like your mom_ which sets Dean off with a string of obscenities, half of which Charlie hasn't even heard of, and they're sniping away at each other until Cas finally intervenes and manages to shut them all up.

"There's one more thing," Dean says, around noon. Charlie's eating a ham sandwich (thank you Dean), Cas is beside her (awkward), and Gabriel and Balthazar are on the end of the table, both with glasses of bourbon in their hands. Surprisingly, Dean hasn't had a drink yet today, or at least none that Charlie's seen. 

"We're not taking Sam with us."

Charlie nearly chokes on her sandwich. Cas's head moves slowly towards where Dean stands, leaning over with his hands on the table, and when she looks down, Charlie can see that he's clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles are white.

"And why, pray tell, are we not taking the moose for walkies?" Balthazar drawls, and Dean says, "Because I said so, all right? He's already got enough on his plate, and if we lose this - if we don't take out the king and queen bitches, we've still got him to slam the Gates of Hell shut."

"We need him," says Cas, surprising pretty much everybody. Dean glowers.

"That's not what you said before," he says roughly, irritation in his voice, but Cas doesn't flinch. 

"I know what I said before, and I meant it," he replies. "We shouldn't have involved you in this, but now that we've come this far, we can't back down. Sam needs to come with us."

"He needs to _stay safe,"_ Dean growls back, and Charlie can hear the fierce protectiveness in his voice. They've got one shot at this, one chance to take down the king and queen pieces, and all Dean wants is for his little brother to stay alive and to stay safe, and suddenly she feels an odd sense of sadness, of bitterness, because there is no one in her life that she can say something like that about with the same fierce protectiveness that Dean has. 

Dean and Sam have a past that Charlie cannot enter.

"I will try and protect him as best I can - " Cas starts, but Dean cuts him with "Oh, you'll _try,_ well _thank you,_ that's _very reassuring"_ and Cas says something back, and the two of them are arguing and no this is not how it's supposed to be, they're all supposed to be on the same side, they're supposed to be fighting _together_ and even if she's useless, even if she wasn't supposed to be here in the first place, she wants them to stay together because this is who she is now, who she wants to be.

This is her little family now, even if she's the only one who thinks so.

There's a scrape as she pushes her chair back, and the noise makes the bickering stop, everyone pausing to look at her. Charlie swallows, feeling slightly spotlighted, and says, "Stop. Stop, arguing isn't going to help anything."

She breathes in, breathes out. _Focus._

"Look, I don't know what's going to happen," she continues, and slowly Dean straightens, takes a breath of his own. Cas sits back in his chair, his face inscrutable. "I don't know if we'll survive this - hell, I'm the only one who's pretty much too human, so I guess that makes me the bait."

She laughs nervously, but no one laughs with her.

"Look," she says again, the laughter slipping away. "Sam's going through hell, I know - wait, bad choice of words - well, I mean, _you know what I mean._ He's looking like a zombie lately, and even though _The Walking Dead_ is pretty badass, I really don't want to wind up a corpse. I think...I think you should let him decide what he wants to do. I mean...he's a grown adult. He can make his own decisions."

And then she smiles, but it's a quiet one, a gentle one, Charlie's eyes flickering around the room, first to Gabriel (who, astonishingly enough, has remained quiet this whole time), to Balthazar, to Cas, and finally to Dean, who has rapidly becoming the older brother she never knew she wanted. 

The older brother that she never knew she _needed_ until now.

"I made my decision already," she says. "I'm gonna fight for you guys. Shouldn't Sam be allowed to make that same choice?"

The silence rings loud and clear throughout the room, and for a moment Charlie wonders whether or not saying anything was a good idea, because really she feels very naked right now, what with everyone staring at her, and she's starting to turn red and slowly she sits down and accidentally knocks over her cup of tea and _okay maybe she really should have just kept her mouth shut, here, she'll just pick up her tea again and take a sip even though there's like nothing left of it -_

"You're right."

Charlie chokes involuntarily on her tea. Coughing, she looks up to find Dean looking down at her, and though his expression is the same hard one he constantly wears, there's something very different about it, something that she can't quite put her finger on.

"You're right," he says again, and looks away, down at the papers scattered across the table (several of which have tiny spots of brown on them now, _thank you Charlie)_. "It's Sam's life. He should be the one to decide when to end it and when to live it."

There's still a sense of sadness to his words, but Dean looks resolved, like this is what he's wanted to say, but never could. Charlie's eyes flick to Cas, who is not looking at her, but at Dean, and Charlie knows immediately that she didn't make a mistake before, that she didn't misunderstand, didn't over analyze the situation, because the way that Cas is looking at Dean is so filled with passion that she almost wants to just shove the two of them in a room and leave them alone for hours.

Too bad they don't have hours.

"I'm going with you."

Five heads swivel towards the door where Sam stands, leaning against the frame. He looks tired, and there are dark circles beneath his eyes that make his face look gaunter, more hollow, but there is determination in his gaze; a strong, heavy determination that negates some smart part of that weariness that has settled into him.

Dean is looking at his brother with obviously mixed emotions, but Sam steps towards him and claps a hand on his shoulder, leaning into say something very quiet in his ear, something that Charlie can't hear, but something that makes Dean breathe inward sharply, and then he nods, then he forces a smile, pats Sam's arm, and Sam disappears into the other room to get ready. And Charlie is once again struck by the realization that their relationship between the two brothers is so interconnected that it's difficult to pin it down sometimes. There is a bond between them that seems unbreakable, unbreachable, something deep and powerful.

Something she wishes she had.

"Well," says Gabriel, after a beat of nobody talking. "I guess that's our cue to vamoose and get our panties in order for tonight. Cas - we'll see you in a few hours."

And then he's gone, and Balthazar winks and disappears and then it's just Charlie, Dean and Cas, and she stands there awkwardly, feeling minutely like a third wheel somehow, but then Cas says, "I'd like to speak with Charlie," and Dean starts and -

_Wait, what._

"Erm," squeaks Charlie, and Dean, looking vaguely irked, rolls his eyes and moves into the other room after Sam, leaving Charlie alone with -

\- an angel.

There's a long (awkward) silence.

"Er," says Charlie, but Cas doesn't respond for a few minutes, leaving Charlie to shuffle her feet and stare at him in confusion.

"I," Cas starts, and Charlie jerks abruptly from her inner musings, part of which had to do with a certain fairy she'll never see again (dammit). "I can't..."

He pushes back his chair and comes towards her, and his gaze is pained. "I won't always be able to watch after...D..." He takes a breath. "...the Winchesters," he says, and something about the way he says it makes Charlie's stomach twist unpleasantly. "I don't - " she starts, but Cas shakes his head, and she shuts her mouth, waiting to hear the rest.

"I won't always be able to come when they call, so I need...I need you to...watch out for them for me."

 _What,_ thinks Charlie. Out loud, she says, in a voice a much higher octave than her normal, "Erm. What do you mean?"

Cas looks frustrated, and Charlie remembers, yet again, that this is _a freaking angel she's talking to a freaking angel, right here, right now, it's - he's - right in front of her, an actual, living, breathing (sort of) angel from Heaven._

It's pretty mindblowing.

"The Winchesters, they...they like you," Cas says, and there's a strange sort of warmness that fills Charlie's chest. "They trust you. They rely on you, and I'm...I'm glad. They don't have many friends, the Winchesters, they're constantly leaving and going places, you know, and their friends are often dead, which is tragic, but you're alive and you're here and they need someone like you, I think."

The warm feeling grows, expands. 

"Just..." Cas continues, and Charlie looks at him, brows flickering in confusion. And now Cas looks at her and his eyes are so ridiculously, outrageously blue, and Charlie wonders if that's because of his angel-ness or just because of the body he's currently inhabiting, and they're so filled with so many emotions it's difficult to even distinguish one from another.

"Make sure Dean is okay," he says, and Charlie blinks, taken aback.

"Dean?" she says, because the idea of her taking care of Dean is absurd, it's supposed to be the other way around.

She's the one that needs protecting, that needs looking after, not Dean Winchester.

"Just...promise me," Cas implores, and there's a note of urgency in his voice that startles her. "Promise me you'll watch after him."

Charlie opens her mouth, shuts it, opens it again, shuts it again, and finally says, 

"I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIED THIS ISN'T THE LAST CHAPTER I should probably plan things better idk I'm not a very good organizer
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and dedication reading this ~~which turned out a lot longer than I intended it to be oops~~


	11. Close Your Eyes

_5:03 PM._

_"RAA GAH IO ES - "_

Sam's the one reading the incantation, but Dean is the one that feels it begin to take, can feel the very ground beneath his feet start to tremble. He grips the knife in his hand so tightly it almost hurts, and behind him Charlie is holding fast to her own blade - namely Castiel's angel blade, which he willingly gave to her, an act that both surprised and confused Dean. It's just the three of them here; Gabriel and Balthazar are holding back until they're summoned, and Cas is purposefully out of sight elsewhere, loaded down with hexbags that make him invisible to angels.

The irony of that is not lost on Dean.

 _Come on, Sammy,_ he thinks, because they only have so much time.

_"VIN NONCA - "_

A chunk of plaster from the ceiling splinters off, falls down, and shatters with a resounding _crash._ Dean can hear Charlie squeak in surprise, and instinctively he shifts his position, his arm outstretched in front of her as though he can protect her, as though he can keep her safe from the junkless flying asshats coming their way.

Somehow he doubts it.

_" - ASPT POAMAL - "_

A crack appears in the cement floor, stretching almost the entire length of the building's foundation, which creaks and shudders under the unexpected break, and Dean wonders if having this whole shindig in the middle of an abandoned warehouse was really the best idea after all.

Sam's voice is weary, but determined.

_" - DE Z - "_

Another crack. Dean's heart thuds loud into his chest, against his rib cage.

_" - ZAMRAN ROS SA!"_

There is an awful, grinding noise, and the entire building trembles violently, as though being sent through a tornado, everything clattering with deafening noises. Several windows shatter, spraying glass this way and that, and Dean throws his arms over Charlie's head, Sam ducking down as more explode around them, and Dean can't help but think that this was _a really bad idea_ and that he needs to get Sam and Charlie out of this, away from this, keep them _safe - "_

"Ah."

It's a voice he never wanted to hear again - or at least not one that he wanted to hear unless she was screaming in her death - but Dean's head snaps up, his eyes blazing, and there she is, standing just a few feet beyond their table on which the summoning tools lie. She's calm, of course, dressed immaculately, and her hands are tucked together in front of her, her expression plainly innocent as though she has done nothing out of the ordinary.

She's done so far _out_ of the ordinary that sometimes just thinking about it makes Dean furious.

"The Winchesters. How...surprising," says Naomi, who is very clearly _not_ surprised. "What can I do for you, boys?"

The way she says _boys,_ the way the corners of her lips curl upwards like she's entirely calm and focused, it's all just so infuriating, so _asinine,_ because Dean knows what she's done, knows how she's manipulated Cas, but there's a part of him, a very small part of him, that can't help thinking about what she said about _"Cas would see it that way, wouldn't he."_

He wants to run this knife through her pretty face and watch it bleed.

"Give us Kevin Tran back," Sam says.

Naomi blinks slowly, lifting her head to look at him.

"What makes you think we have him?" she asks, and Dean snaps out, "Because you're the only one who _could_ have taken him."

They figured it out late last night, before all the partying and the definitely _not getting Cas_ part. Garth's boat had still been warded against Crowley, against _all_ demons after Kevin had disappeared, and despite the fact that the King of Hell can do a lot of things, one thing he _can't_ do is manipulate memories and _free will_ the way that _others_ can.

Others meaning _angels._ And Dean, in his selfish desire to have Cas return, had not warded the boat against angels.

Naomi looks as pleasant as pleasant can be - if pleasant meant psychotic. "We did not take the prophet."

"Remember what I said about not trusting angels?" Dean asks, waving Ruby's knife around, a sneer on his face. "You still fall under that category, _bitch._ So unless you've got some fantastically improbable, pathetic excuse for taking Kevin, we want him back. And even if you do - we still want him back."

There's a long moment in which there's utter silence, and the only sound is from Sam's breathing, which is somewhat more labored than usual. Dean's still stock still beside Charlie, his arm still in front of her.

Naomi smiles.

There's a _snap_ from her fingers and then there's Kevin, looking disheveled and confused and utterly exhausted, but not hurt. Sam makes a sudden jerking motion, as though wanting to run forward, but the angel blade against the underside of Kevin's jaw stops him from doing anything further.

"Please," says Naomi. "You think I'd kill a _prophet_ just to spite you two? We still need him."

"Let him go," Dean growls, and the smile on Naomi's face widens. Kevin sways where he stands, eyes wide.

"No," she says calmly. "Not yet. See, Heaven's been missing an angel for quite some time now - an angel that the Winchesters are very familiar with."

Dean's stomach begins to twist unpleasantly, and he reassesses his grip on the knife. Behind him, Charlie shifts.

"We need Castiel," Naomi continues. "Most of all, we need what he _has._ That tablet is a time bomb waiting to explode. All I want is to take it to Heaven, where it can be sealed away safely, without fear of it being exposed to... _unfortunate circumstances._ I'm sure you'll agree that this is the best course of action."

"Like hell it is," Dean snaps. "You want us to trade Cas for Kevin, is that it?"

Naomi's shoulders lift and fall. The silver of the angel blade flashes as she presses it a little higher, and Kevin makes a small whimpering sound. "Seems fair enough, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, right. Like we even know where Cas _is."_

There is something dangerous in Naomi's eyes, something that stirs the anxiety low in Dean's stomach, and suddenly he is all too aware of his own mortality, of _Sam's_ mortality, of Charlie's, and this is rapidly becoming _a really, really bad idea_ because there is no way they are even getting out of this alive, what were they _thinking?_

_"You were hoping Castiel will return to you."_

_Yes,_ Dean thinks. _Yes I was._

_But he didn't._

_Everyone leaves in the end._

There is the softest brush of something peaceful against his thoughts; a strange, unexpected feeling that makes Dean blink, tilting his head a little, and the minute gesture captures Naomi's attention. Her eyes narrow in suspicion, the tip of the angel blade pressing into Kevin's jugular, and the calm facade is slipping away, an ugly look appearing on her face. 

_"Bring me Castiel,"_ she hisses, but Sam has already moved - and so has Charlie. 

The holy oil is spattered across Naomi's chest, some getting in her eyes, and she lets out a cry of shock. The hand holding the blade slips just a fraction, and Sam dives, his arms around Kevin's waist as he throws them both to the floor. And Charlie is snapping a match and there's a crackle of flame, and then Naomi is on fire, and she's screaming - 

\- and she's not disappearing. Her eyes are burning, almost literally, and there are thick golden orange flames licking at her torso and the sides of her face, an awful smile twisting her lips upwards, contorting her expression. 

_"I am the Queen of Heaven,"_ Naomi says. _"I return to Heaven when **I** choose to return."_

And then everything explodes. 

And suddenly things have gotten a whole lot messier. 

The entire building feels - and looks - as though it's on fire. Above their head, metal beams shift and creak as they begin to melt, and there are deafening crashes as the warehouse starts to crumble from the inside out. Enormous, powerful flames cascade across the floor in rivulets, and Charlie is screaming as they are surrounded, the heat pressing in on them, an awful, spine-tingling, blistering heat that reminds him of Purgatory, of Hell. Dean can see Sam, across the way, still holding onto Kevin for dear life, and Dean's hand is around Charlie's wrist like an anchor and they're sitting in a ring of fire that's four feet high. 

"SAM!" Dean yells, but the fire is so loud, and the rolling black smoke is already thick - 

\- _too thick,_ Dean thinks. 

"Starting the party without me, I see." 

Like they needed the King of Hell to make things even worse than they already are. 

Crowley strolls through the flames like - well, like he's the King of Hell, absently brushing off one sleeve as though he's merely at a cocktail event mingling with guests. There are several demons with him, and Dean has the distinct feeling there are more outside as well. 

Naomi is furious. 

"Get _out."_

Crowley smirks. "Love to. Can't." 

There is a shriek of rage that's almost painful to listen to, and Naomi has sent a burst of blinding white light towards Crowley - who is no longer in front of her, but rather behind her now, still with the same smug expression, and it's like having two of his worst nightmares right in front of him. Their fight is deafening to all those around them, lightning crashes of one sword hitting another, and sparks are flying in all directions, and Dean still can't figure out a way to get out of this ring of fire without running right through it. And ordinarily he wouldn't have hesitated, but this is Charlie, and she's important - 

\- she's family now, Dean realizes, probably a little too late. 

_"Dean!"_

Sam's voice can be heard faintly above the screaming flames and the angel versus demon fight, and Dean squints through the haze of red and black to see Sam running towards him, dragging Kevin along behind him. They dodge flames, duck away from falling debris, and finally they're right in front of them, and Charlie's fingers are tight against the back of Dean's jacket. 

"Here!" Dean grabs her, pulls her forward. "Do you trust me?" 

"What?" she says, flustered, and Dean all but yells, _"Do you trust me?"_

"Yes," she says, without hesitation, and Dean hauls her up in his arms, princess-style, and then he's running through the flames and it's hot and it's burning and he can hear Charlie's sharp intake of breath, hear her whimper of pain, and he feels as though everything around him is melting, and then - 

\- and then they're through. The relief is not immediate; after all, they went from the fire back into the frying pan, but it's better than being trapped. And although Charlie's flame red hair is slightly singed at the ends, she seems all right. 

"You good?" Dean asks her, as he lets her down, and Charlie nods, taking a deep breath. 

There's no time for reunions. Something heavy and hard hits Dean's side like a freight train and he's down on the ground with a demon above him, a fist slamming into his face, and then there are hands around his neck, and he can't seem to breathe, and no, this isn't how it's supposed to go down, he's not supposed to get his ass kicked so early in the game - 

_Clang._

And suddenly he can breathe again and his lungs fill with air and Dean can see Charlie standing above him, a metal folding chair in her hands, the demon now lying on the floor with a look of disorientation on his face. Dean raises his eyebrows, and Charlie gives him a little grin. 

" 'You save my life, I save yours, we're square,' " she quips, and Dean shrugs, pulls himself up and gets moving again. 

He and Sam manage to take out about two demons each, while Charlie stays with Kevin, trying to make sure he's all right, and when Dean takes a minute to look back, she's crouched on the floor beside him with an arm around his skinny shoulders, and something in Dean's heart constricts painfully, something he can't - or won't - identify. 

There are still more demons - even worse, there are more angels, because even though Naomi's still holding her own against Crowley, she's called for backup, and now the entire fiery warehouse is quite literally swarming with the classic angels versus demon conflict, except there are also four distinctly human players on the board. 

Crowley is bleeding out of his eye, and Naomi's got a cut down her arm that's leaking white, and they're locked hand to hand, their angel blades against one another, neither willing to be the first to pull back. 

"CHARLIE!" Sammy screams, and Dean turns around just in time to see an angel lunging towards her and Kevin, and he's too far away, he can't stop it, and now they're both going to die and it's going to be his fault, like it always is, because he couldn't protect them, because _he couldn't save them -_

_CAS I NEED YOU._

And suddenly there is an explosion of white light that makes Dean stop and cover his eyes, a high pitched keening wail, and when he lowers his arm he can see the tail of a black trenchcoat, can see a black-suited angel lying on the ground in front of him, mouth open, black ash wings spread out on either side of him. 

"Gabriel," says Cas. "Balthazar. Inais. Rachel." 

There are small rushes of wings that can barely be heard over the sounds of the flames, and one by one the angels appear, dive into the fray without a second thought, and even though Dean hates those flying asshats with a passion, they're on his side, and demons and angels are falling by the dozen now. 

"Protect them," says Cas, and there's no hesitation, no hemming or hawing, and for a moment, Dean can see it, can see the General that Cas once was, the stalwart soldier of Heaven that he used to be. Inais grabs Charlie and Kevin, stands protection over them, while Gabriel, swaggering confidently around and twirling his archangel blade like a baton, kills three demons without batting an eye. Balthazar is defending himself against two angels, while Cas strides through the flames over towards Dean, and even with everything around them falling apart, Dean wants nothing more than to just pull Cas into his arms and hold him there forever. 

Except he doesn't do that, can't do that, and they don't have forever. 

"CASTIEL!" screams Naomi, and for a moment she abandons her fight against Crowley, appearing in a flutter of wings in front of Cas, and Dean is shoved roughly back as Cas's arm flies up instinctively, a thunderous clap of blades lighting the room. She grabs for the front of his coat and swings him around, and Dean can't just stand here and watch, so he leaps after them, but one flick of Crowley's wrist sends him flying backwards, slamming against a wall, where he crumples down to the ground, gasping for breath. 

"Not now, Squirrel," says Crowley. "You're not my type." 

Across the room, Sam has taken out another demon, and then another angel, but even from this distance Dean can see that it's wearing him out completely, that he's starting to lose his strength. His movements are becoming slower, more sluggish, and his reaction time is severely delayed. A demon runs after him, and Dean yells a warning, but Rachel is already there, and her blade is buried deep within the demon's stomach. She flings him away without a second thought and then moves on to the next one, and maybe Dean got her wrong the first time, maybe she's not such a bad chick after all. 

Around them, the demons and angels are falling more quickly than ever, and Balthazar is standing proudly over a group of fallen demons, his foot on their back, a smug look on his face, and Gabriel's whistling in amusement as he downs yet another angel, and for the first time since this whole mess started, Dean thinks that maybe, just maybe, they can win this fight. 

It's like it happens in slow motion. 

Naomi grabs for Dean, fingers around his neck, choking the life out of him, and then Cas is there, Cas is pushing her away from Dean, and she's tossing Dean aside and grabbing Cas, and there's a clatter as his angel blade falls to the ground. She pins his arms against his back, spins him around, and Crowley's there, and there's a horrible, awful smirk on his face, and Dean is running but he's not getting anywhere fast and he just needs to get to Cas, he needs to get to Cas _right now -_

\- and then Crowley's hand is buried in Cas's chest - 

Dean's world is collapsing. 

Cas's scream fills the air, deafening above the rest of the melee, shivering into his soul, into Dean's soul, and Dean can see red and black and then a brilliant, blinding white and Crowley's yanking his hand back and there's something held in his hand, something so pure and _white -_

"Thanks for this, Cas," the King of Hell says. "You won't be needing this anymore... _partner."_

He closes his hand with relish, a look of the deepest, maniacal loathing on his face, and it's like another explosion has rocked the room, the entire building shaking with the force of it, and Cas slumps lifelessly to the ground, blood sliding from the corners of his mouth and from the gaping wound in his chest, and his Grace is completely gone, completely shattered between Crowley's blood drenched fingers. 

Shattered, like Dean. 

_"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_

Ruby's knife hits the angel blade Naomi's holding with a clatter, but she throws him off easily and he hits the wall and rolls, stands back up, because he's beyond feeling, beyond anything else, and there's nothing in his thoughts other than Cas, other than the fact that Cas _cannot_ be dead, he can't, because that's not fair, because Dean has lived his entire life with regrets and he can't let Cas die without making up with him - 

\- Naomi throws him off again, like a bored woman shooing a fly. Dean gets up, rushes her, and is thrown back again. 

Then again. 

And again. 

He's lying on the floor and his head is bleeding and his chest feels as though someone's stomped on it repeatedly, and he's pretty sure he's broken a few ribs, maybe gotten a concussion, but it still doesn't hurt as much as the ache in his heart, the unbelievable sense of blackness and devastation from the body that lies a few feet away, bathed in blood and fire, and it's hard to even think straight, hard to breathe. 

Hard to exist in a world without Cas. 

Naomi crouches down beside Dean and reaches out a hand, her fingers stroking back the hair away from his face, and the touch makes Dean nauseated, sick to his stomach, and he doesn't want her touching him, doesn't want her even _near_ him, his face twisting in disgust and loathing. 

"I told you," she says quietly, a smile on her face. Behind her, Dean can see Sam going towards Crowley, only to be thrown back again, and Dean can't do anything, he's never been able to do anything at all. 

"I told you that this could all have been resolved had you just trusted me," Naomi continues. "I told you that we wanted to have the tablet up in Heaven, where it was safe. If you had just listened to me, if Cas had listened to me..." She sighs regretfully and stands, smoothing her hands down the sides of her grey suit pants. "Well, I dislike having to work with _uncleanliness,_ but in this case, it was necessary for you to see what happens when you act like humans." She shrugs. "You die like a human." 

"Just like you will," says a voice, and Naomi spins around, but she's not fast enough, not quick enough to stop the angel blade from slamming through her torso, right between her ribs. 

Her eyes open wide, and for a moment she says nothing, simply stares down at the blade protruding from her chest, and then back up at her attacker. 

"That was for me," Samandriel says. 

Naomi opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. 

"And this," Dean says. "is for Cas." 

And the angel blade he took from Inais before they even entered the warehouse is buried into her back, right alongside Samandriel's.

_Boom._

A shockwave ricochets through the building, and then Naomi's shrieking, and white light is spilling from her body, from her vessel, and then she's down on the ground and not moving, black ash wings spread horizontally away from her body, forever imprinted on the floor of the rapidly dissolving building. 

The Queen of Heaven is dead. 

Dean, swaying where he stands, looks up at Samandriel, takes a deep breath. 

"Thanks, Alfie." 

Samandriel smiles. 

Only they're not done, not yet, because the King of Hell is still here, and he's standing in the middle of the fire looking as calm as he ever did. Crowley clicks his tongue disapprovingly, his eyes flickering over Naomi's fallen body with the same expression as one about to step on a bug on the floor. Sam is standing with Gabriel and Balthazar, and Rachel and Inias are leaning over Kevin. Around them are dozens upon dozens of bodies of demons, empty vessels of angels. 

All that remains is the King of Hell. 

"She was so lovely too, for a wingman," Crowley says with a sigh, and then smirks. "That's my cue to leave, boys - and girl, I think," he adds, with a glance at Charlie. 

Except Charlie's no longer with Kevin. Crowley's eyes narrow, then widen, and he twists around - 

\- but it's too late. 

The angel blade goes straight through Crowley's heart. 

He gives a grunt of pain and surprise, like it's not possible for him to be dying - except he is, and for good this time. Charlie drops her hands away from the blade and backs away quickly, eyes wide, but Crowley flicks his wrist and she goes flying sideways, slamming into a wall and crumpling to the ground. Dean moves automatically, running towards her, but his eyes are still on Crowley as Dean kneels beside her, desperately hoping that Charlie's still breathing, that she's not dead like - 

"Oh," says Crowley. 

"Eat dirt," says Dean. 

And then Crowley's screaming in rage and red smoke is billowing from his body, curling around him, sinking into the floor, and he's trembling violently, his eyes are rolling back into his skull and they can hear bones snapping and cracking and splintering, his flesh melting and then, with an almighty _crash,_ the body of the King of Hell falls lifelessly to the ground and moves no more. 

And then it's over. 

Except not really, not ever. 

While Balthazar lowers the flames, Charlie stirs feebly, and Dean leans over her, touching her cheek. Her eyes flutter open, and she looks up at him blearily. 

"Did we win?" 

Dean cracks a smile through dry lips, relief filling his chest because she's alive, she's not dead, one little part of his strange little family is still alive. 

"We did. Thanks to you." 

Charlie smiles and closes her eyes again. 

"Great. Maybe next time we can do it with a little less pain? I'm always breaking things, thanks to you guys." 

A low laugh escapes his throat. Samandriel kneels beside them and puts a hand on Charlie's back, helping her to sit up, and Dean looks at him with awe and surprise, Samandriel in his silly little red and white Wiener Hut uniform, until the angel says, almost sheepishly, "Castiel brought me back last, but he didn't tell anyone." 

His expression sorrows. "I think because he still couldn't accept the fact that he 'killed' me." 

"Well," says Dean. "I'm glad you're okay, Alfie. You're not so bad, you know." 

Samandriel's smile widens. 

Dean leaves Charlie with him and stands up, his eyes moving across the room, counting faces. Kevin is leaning against Sam, half unconscious from weariness (what a pathetic pair of people the two of them make, Dean thinks), Gabriel is not-so-subtly kicking all the bodies into one pile so they can be burned, and Rachel and Inais are standing off to the side a little, conversing quietly. 

Balthazar is leaning over a body - a body Dean doesn't want to go near, because he can't look at him, can't bring himself to face the obvious fact, but he does it anyway, forcing his feet to move, forcing himself to make the short trip over, breach the distance between himself and Balthazar. 

Cas's eyes are closed, so Dean can't see the brilliant blue anymore. There is blood smeared on his forehead, on his neck, his chest, sliding down his jaw from his mouth, and the sight of it almost makes Dean want to retch, want to turn away. The blackness is encroaching in on him, and the grief is starting to fill his heart again, fill his head, fill every part of him until there's nothing left but _pain._

"Oh, Cassie," says Balthazar softly, and Dean closes his eyes, because just hearing his name hurts, it hurts so much that he can hardly think straight. 

He kneels down and puts his hand on Cas's arm, and thinks, _You bastard._

They haven't made any promises to each other, but Dean can't do this alone. 

_I told you I needed you, you son of a bitch. And now you've gone off and left. I know I made mistakes - hell, I always make mistakes. My life is one big mistake. But I can't - Cas, I can't do this without you. Please._

There's only silence. 

Dean closes his eyes. 

" - Dean." 

Balthazar's voice. Dean ignores it at first because he doesn't want to talk, doesn't want to think, doesn't want to _exist._

_"Dean."_

It's more urgent this time. Dean's eyes snap open and he glowers at Balthazar, who is holding onto Cas's wrist. 

_"What?"_ he says, and Balthazar looks up at him, his eyes wide. 

"He's alive." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a lot longer to type than I intended, but this is how I always intended it to go, so hopefully you guys like it. C:
> 
> Next chapter will be the last one


	12. See You Again

The hospital smells of antiseptic.

It's a scent that's familiar to Dean, but he still doesn't like it. Dirt, blood, smoke, burning flesh, he'll take all of it. He's used to that. Hell, he's even used to the slightly stale smell of the bunker now, even though it was unoccupied for the last decades. He's been in hospitals a million times, whether being a patient himself, visiting another, or investigating while on a case.

But there's just something about that antiseptic smell that Dean can't get used to.

He wishes, not for the first time, that Inias or Rachel had been able to heal him up. Hell, he'd have even taken those other two douchenozzles if it meant he wouldn't have to lie here in a damned hospital bed for the next twenty-four hours. But thanks to their little excursion at the warehouse - i.e. the _dethroning_ of the Queen of Heaven, it's total chaos (again) up there, according to Inias. All the angels currently on Earth are currently cut off from the power - or most of it, at least, like the _important healing stuff._ They can still pop in and pop out whenever they want, which Dean finds completely unfair. But, Inias had said, it wouldn't be permanent. Once things settled down in Heaven, once they managed to get everything reorganized, they'll be able to regain what they've lost.

Hopefully.

The room is a double room, for which Dean is grateful. He's not quite certain how Sam managed to swing it, but he's not looking a gift horse in the mouth. 

At least now he doesn't have to go searching for Cas. 

It takes him two days to get out of ICU, lots of confusion over missing paperwork, and a great deal of _persuasion_ on the part of one Balthazar, who somehow manages to convince the attending physician that this is Dean's brother, a man named Jimmy Winchester. But now he's stable - although not awake yet. 

He's been in a coma for the past three days and Dean is going crazy.

"Do angels even _have_ comas?" he had demanded from Samandriel, who shook his head sadly and gave Dean an odd look, as though confused. And when Dean had leaned back and said, somewhat testily, _"What?"_ Samandriel had just looked even more sad.

 _"Angels_ don't have comas, Dean."

It had taken Dean a moment to figure it out, and then he had all but thrown a lamp across the room, because no, no, this was not fair, this is not how it was supposed to have gone down. It was not ever supposed to have ended with Cas in the state he was in, it was not supposed to have ended with so many questions still unanswered, it was not supposed to have ended with Heaven in chaos and the demons still roaming.

It was not supposed to have ended with Cas is a damn _coma_ for who knows how long.

And it was not supposed to have ended without Dean having said goodbye first.

"The doctor's still aren't certain what's causing the coma," Charlie tells him, when she comes to visit from her own room, a floor above. She looks loads better than she did when they first came, even if she's dragging an IV cart around with her and she's got two broken ribs and a concussion, as well as a fractured wrist. "They stopped the internal bleeding, but they're confused because he doesn't have a head wound."

Both of them look over at the bed beside Dean's, which currently has its curtains drawn back so that the pale face of Castiel can be seen. His eyes are closed, of course, and his head is slightly turned away, his chest rising and falling slowly. He looks so unbearably _small,_ so terribly _fragile,_ that Dean is almost afraid - no, scratch that, he _is_ afraid, because he doesn't want Cas to die, he _can't_ have Cas die, and what was the point of everything they'd just done if this was the result? 

What was the point of giving him hope that Cas was still in there somewhere if only to take it all away again?

He knows they did good. He knows that they did freaking _awesome._ Hell, they took down both the Queen of Heaven and the King of Hell in one go and it was beautiful. And now two of the biggest baddies are dead and gone, never to have to be worried about again. Now they can just focus on closing the Gates of Hell, sealing the rest of the demons back inside, and they'll be good. They'll be back to hunting wendigos and shapeshifters and djinn and everything will be back to the way it was supposed to be in the first place.

Except it won't be. And it won't ever be, because now that he's had Cas in his life, Dean doesn't want to live a life without him.

He'll do it if he has to. He'll push forward, hold his chin upright, march onward. Do his duty, because he is Dean Winchester. He is John Winchester's son. He is a soldier, and moving on, moving forward, is what he does.

He'll move this time, but it won't be forward.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

 

The visitors that come and go in room 16A at Saint Luke's Hospital baffle the nurses, because in spite of the fact that they only sign in a few people at a time, there always seem to be a strangely large number of people in the room itself when one walks by. 

One visitor is always the same - an unusually tall man with dark hair to his shoulders, always tired looking, but never failing to show up every single day. Sometimes he falls asleep at the bedside of the loud one, and the patient always snaps for everyone else to be quiet, when really it should be the other way around. 

Sometimes the dark haired one is alone. Other times he brings someone with him. A skinny Asian kid comes several times, along with a woman who looks as though she could be related to him; then a woman in a Sheriff's uniform who flashes her badge imperiously when the nurses come to kick everyone out one evening because _visiting hours are over._ Sometimes an odd looking man with a cowboy hat and a sock puppet is known to make an appearance.

The redheaded young woman from the floor above is also a frequent visitor, after she's released. The patient in 16A still has a week or two left, not that he's determined to stay that long. He's already tried leaving twice, only to be dragged back by a security guard the first time, and the tall, dark-haired one the second time. 

The nurse on duty thought she heard him mutter something like, _"Seriously, Dean?"_ as they both traipse back into the room.

Sometimes, when the nurses peek in, they can see other visitors - a short man sucking on a lollipop, a man with a strange accent and a bottle of gin in hand (one that's soon confiscated). A pale-faced young man with a slightly childish visage in a weird looking red and white striped uniform. A brown-haired man in a dark suit and a lighter haired woman in jeans and a blazer.

The nurses are always confused at how these people manage to get in to a supposedly restricted room.

It's a double room, but while one of the patients is constantly awake (and constantly squabbling with all of his visitors), the other patient remains silent and still.

The doctors say he'll never wake up.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

 

"Sam."

"Dean, no."

_"Sammy."_

"Dean, _no."_

"Come on!"

"What part of 'no' did you not get?"

"The part that began with an 'n' and ends with a 'no.'"

Sam gives him _Exasperated Brother Look #442,_ but Dean is not about to back down, not about this. 

It takes some wrangling, and it definitely takes some bargaining (more than Dean was hoping to bargain), but Sam finally agrees that he'll take Charlie and Kevin back to the bunker with everyone else for a few days and Dean will stay here with Cas. He's already been discharged, but he's not about to leave, at least not anytime soon, but Sam's been awake for almost twenty-four hours (a freaking miracle these days), and Dean wants - _needs_ him to go home and get some rest.

"Remember that time I told you that you don't need to take care of everyone?" Sam asks, as he slings his bag over his shoulder, but Dean just grunts in reply. His eyes flicker to Cas, then back to Sam, and there is a catch in his throat now, which feels very dry.

"I can't leave him, Sammy."

Something in Sam's expression softens. He glances at the figure on the bed and then back to Dean, reaching up a hand to clap him on the shoulder, his fingers squeezing slightly. There are no more words exchanged, but no words are needed.

Dean goes to sit beside Cas.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

The first hour is spent in complete silence.

The second hour is spent with Dean telling Cas all about what happened after the incident at the warehouse; about how Charlie made fast friends with Rachel, and the two of them spent a while just talking about Heaven and the angels on the way to the hospital. About how Gabriel not-so-subtly smuggled booze into Kevin's hospital room and got all the nurses in there giggling and laughing with him. About how Balthazar smoked a cigar in Dean's room and accidentally set off the fire alarm (a situation that was thankfully hastily remedied before chaos had erupted). 

About how Kevin developed a sort of thing for Charlie, only to heave a sigh of resignation upon discovering that her preferences weren't quite in line with his own (she let him down easy). 

About how Samandriel told Dean all about Castiel's time in Heaven, and how he had changed after meeting the Winchesters.

About how Charlie had fallen asleep one day with her head in her arms on the side of Dean's bed and how he'd thought that it was actually okay, because he hadn't wanted her to leave either.

About how he, Dean, can't seem to get himself together.

"Wake up," he says. "You gotta wake up, man."

But nothing happens.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

The second day after everyone leaves is much like the first. Sam calls around noon, asking how Cas is, and when Dean asks about how Sam is, he gets a tirade about how Gabriel and Balthazar pop in constantly and wreak havoc just because they can, and how Garth and Charlie have become friends, and how Kevin sleeps all the time because he's just so tired and Sam can relate to that because it's hard to sleep when you have too many people around and _everyone is driving him nuts._

Dean hangs up the phone with a small smile on his face for the first time in a long time.

It's on the third day after everyone leaves that Dean makes a decision.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

It's late. The clock on the wall reads something like 11:30pm, but Dean is so tired, he's not quite certain his vision is accurate. He's not technically supposed to even still be here, but a few choice words with the nurse on duty gave him some extra time. He's been dozing on and off out in the waiting room when he's forced out of the room, but with each day that passes, each day that Cas doesn't wake up, Dean gets more and more desperate, the outcome growing bleaker and bleaker.

He's not sure how much longer he can stand this.

"Cas, you know," he says, and it's just like he's back in Purgatory, sitting up in the branches of a thick pine tree (he used to climb them to keep himself less of a target for the monsters at night), staring up into the starless sky, letting his thoughts out to the angel. 

He's back in Purgatory this time - but it's a different kind of Purgatory, and this time there's no angel to be found.

"I'm kind of a dick," Dean says quietly, and lets out a rueful laugh, linking his fingers together. He's leaning against the edge of the bed, his forearms on the pathetic excuse for a mattress. "I make all sorts of stupid mistakes, and man did I ever make one with you."

It's supposed to be a joke, but the laughter is hollow. His expression flickers. It's hard to continue; his mouth feels dry.

"Cas, I don't know...if what I'm doing is right," Dean says. "I don't know which path I'm supposed to take anymore. All I know is that I need to keep my little brother safe."

His throat tightens. Something is making his vision blur.

"And you," he whispers. "I need to keep you safe. Cas, I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry I...let you go. See, the truth is, I'm not used to...having anyone else in my life other than Sam; it's been just me and him for so long. And you know that; you've known that for years, just how damaged I am."

He swallows, closes his eyes, and starts again. "But Cas, you stayed anyway. You never left - at least, not at first. You did at the end, but you did it to protect me." 

A faint smile flickers across his face. "Just like you did in Purgatory. And here I am running around, gettin' my ass kicked, so I can protect Sammy. So I can protect you.

"...but I failed, didn't I, Cas? I didn't keep you safe, even though I wanted to, even though I tried so damn hard to keep us together, to keep us from breaking, and you still broke. I failed Bobby, I failed Sammy, I failed _Benny._ And I still failed you. "

The hospital is so quiet this late at night, so solemn. The only sound is the steady _beep beep_ coming from the monitor above Cas's bed. Dean looks at him, his eyes tracing over the familiar face, the eyes that are now closed, and he wonders if this is what it feels like to die without really dying.

He needs to accept that Cas is not going to ever wake up because this is life. This is the reality that he has been handed.

Slowly Dean stands, and his chest feels tight, but he has to do this, he has to leave now, because if he doesn't, he'll never leave, and he'll never let go. He'll spend his entire life regretting, wondering, paining.

Quietly he leans over, his face aside Cas's, and when he speaks, it's low and quiet, barely above a whisper, into Cas's ear.

"Your footsteps were the ones I wanted to walk beside for the rest of my life."

And then he straightens and looks at that face one last time, looks at the face of the man who he's known for six years, who he's fought beside, who he's bled beside, who he almost died beside - who did everything for him, because of him, and it's like looking into the past and the present and the future all at once. He does not walk behind Cas, and Cas does not walk behind Dean.

They will always be side by side in the end.

Dean closes his eyes and takes a breath. He opens them again, and a faint smile is on his face, Dean's fingertips brushing tenderly against Cas's cheek one last time.

"Good night, Cas."

And then he walks away.

He doesn't get very far.

"Good morning, Dean."

There's a soft sound behind him, and then fingers are wrapped around Dean's wrist. Gentle fingers, lacking strength, but it's enough to stop Dean in his tracks, enough to make his heart seize in his chest, enough to make him feel as though there's not enough air in the room. He turns around so fast he almost cracks his neck, and when he does all he can see is _blue,_ so much blue that it's almost blinding him. 

Cas is awake.

Dean takes a step back towards him, leaning over him, and Cas looks utterly exhausted, but his hand shifts a little, and when Dean looks down he can see Cas's fingers slipping through his, twining their hands together, and Dean swallows hard, takes a breath -

\- and smiles.

"I need you," says Dean.

"I love you," says Cas.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Charlie decides that maybe her life isn't so bad, when you think about it.

After all, she's got two amazing "brothers," who kick some serious monster ass. She's got a sweet bunker to live in with her own private room and though she has to share a bath with Linda Tran, she's pretty all right with that. She's got her own laptop and her own fake IDs, courtesy of Sam and Dean. She's currently learning how to shoot a gun, thanks to Dean's excellent tutelage, and Sam's got her working on research, and saying something about how she'd make a "great Woman of Letters." 

She's got Kevin to play video games with, and occasionally Dean will join in when he's not on a hunt. The bunker has a steady stream of visitors, from Garth (who always brings pizza and beer), to Rachel (Charlie wonders whether it's bad to flirt with an angel - but then she remembers _a certain other pair_ in the bunker, and decides that it's _totally fine_ ), to Samandriel, who is always sweet. Gabriel even pops in every now and then, but his visits are usually chaotic and filled with booze and unexpected female guests (not that Charlie's complaining). 

But most of all she's got Dean and Sam - and Cas. Cas, who upon arriving back at the bunker on his first day home, was the first to thank Charlie for what she had done in the warehouse. She'd blushed and hemmed and hawed, but accepted it, and had caught the smile on Dean's face as he showed Cas to his room.

They're not obvious. It'll take some time to get back on the right footing, Dean explains. They all need time to adjust before they take on the next big thing - namely Sam's last trial. And things have a way of popping up unexpectedly.

But every once in a while, Charlie will look over and see the way Dean stands behind Cas while he teaches him to cook, see the way his finger rests casually through the belt loop of Cas's jeans. Sometimes she'll see the looks given to each other across the room - entire conversations held without so much as a single syllable uttered verbally, because the language that Dean and Cas speak to each other is not a vocal one, it's a heart one, a soul one. 

Charlie knows that things aren't going to be easy from now on. There's still a long road ahead of them. And yeah, sometimes it's crazy, sometimes it's dangerous. Sometimes Dean is too overprotective, and sometimes Garth leaves his dirty socks lying around whenever he comes to visit (and somehow whenever he doesn't come there are still socks).

But for now, she decides, as she picks up her gun and heads to the shooting range, things are pretty all right.

_My family is pretty all right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it! The end of this particular story of mine (or is it?)! Thank you all so much for sticking around to read it and for being so patient with me! I really appreciate your comments and just stopping by, so thank you thank you so much! I hope to see you guys again! <33


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